


Seeds of Paradise

by AzulMountain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Druids, Everyone gets hurt at some point, Fuck Or Die, Happy Ending, Illustrations, Kidnapping, M/M, Magic, Mates, Minor Character Death, Natural Disasters, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Talking Trees, Warnings May Change, Wolf's Rain - Freeform, puppy!isaac, werewolf kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 99,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzulMountain/pseuds/AzulMountain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Hale brings chaos to the world by initiating an ancient ceremony to create a flower maiden in order to open Paradise. Humans will once again know their place, under the blessed wolves, and Peter will rule them all as King Alpha. One wolf and one flower maiden, a spellbound Stiles Stilinski, are the keys to opening this heavenly gate and Derek Hale will not allow his mate to whither and die before his Paradise is realized. </p><p>As if the possible world ending pressure isn't difficult enough for the McCall pack to manage, a conspiracy to bury the Argents, High Druid Deaton, and Sheriff Stilinski is in the works. A deranged Gerard Argent, multiple natural disasters, a nosy FBI agent, and new little charges keep the pack frantic as they try to assist Stiles and Derek to Paradise, so he won't become a weeping willow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!   
> This is a teen wolf fan fiction with elements from the anime Wolf's Rain. If you have never seen that show, that is alright! You get to learn all about the basic concept of the anime, right along with the poor abused teen wolf characters, who are suddenly thrown into this confusing situation thanks to Peter. Really all that I am borrowing is that the wolves must find the key to Paradise, as written in the Book of Moon. Oh, and Derek may have had a past life! There are some parallels to the anime, but they are twisted to my evil desires. Should you want to find out more about the show [which I encourage you too check out, it's worth it, especially if you like wolves as much as I do :)], then it shouldn't spoil too much ~though for the purpose of covering my ass: There may be spoilers for wolf's rain. There are SPOILERS for TEEN WOLF SEASON 3A. Stop reading this if you haven't seen the whole show to date.....This story starts with Peter killing the darach at the end of "Lunar Ellipse." The rest of the story takes place over the next four days. It's a long one to almost 100,000 words. It's finished, and ILLUSTRATED, just needs to be edited. Hope you guys enjoy!!!! Please let me know if you get confused, I am happy to answer questions.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a "transformative" work with respect to both original works. This parody is not for profit. Any resemblance in imagery or plot to either original works is just for fun. Also for the illustrations, no photo permissions were given, I also never asked :( Sorry for that, but this baby is going nowhere.  
> Wolf’s Rain is an anime created by writer and story editor Keiko Nobumoto and produced by Bones Studio.  
> Teen Wolf (TV series) developed by Jeff Davis for MTV
> 
> All the grammatical errors are my own. Apologies, if you have an eagle eye; I tried to edit, but this is a monster and things sometimes slip by.

 

  

by AzulMountain

CHAPTER ONE

 

For thousands of years the sisters play; One chosen for the Mother and one chosen for the Moon. Together the chosen will dance under the moonlight in the blood of evil and bring forth the seeds of Paradise.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Nemeton’s Valley (Pre-dawn, hours after the darach-alpha fight)

 

Euphoria. The moment that final pop echoes through the air and the compact bone splinters under the pressure of the back molars; all the friction of strong muscles and teeth working tirelessly to free the orgasmic marrow, until it’s creamy fatty tissue is spilling onto the tongue and down the throat. All wolves know this bliss, even werewolves, and especially Peter Hale.

 

A cracking note punctuates the end of her desperation. She crumples to the ground in failure as all her hopes fade. Her crippled wrist is still held high in her fruitless reach to regain power. Trapped in the man’s grasp, Peter just tightens his grip and grins at his anguished victim. Her ulna punctures through her skin revealing the spongy pink tissue inside, pooling blood over his hand. He cackles as he relishes the warmth of her blood and her wails of pain. He drops her crushed wrist, relief and satisfaction roll off the man. Her brief suffering is enough. The woman, who came so close to costing him everything, should deserve more of Peter’s ‘special care’, but he has other things to worry about.

 

He flings her away from the tree’s stump and wipes his hand methodically on his pants to clean the blood. Her previous neck injury reopens and her garbled dying words are complemented by a stream of bloody bubbles forming in the corner of her mouth. The words do not matter to Peter, he just feels relieved he has found the sacrificial tree ripe for his plans.

 

Peter Hale feels divine, until her cutting words about his alpha status touch a sensitive nerve. “Again? Again,” He snarls and slashes his claws across her already battered throat, finishing the poor excuse for a fatal strike some other sap calls acceptable. Her blood splatters across the stump; the Nemeton immediately begins to absorb her blood. Small drops of black sap start bubbling from the stump. “I am the alpha! I’ve always been the alpha!”

 

Peter calms himself; he must use his time well. He hoists the emissary’s dead body over his shoulder and steps back from the tree. Finding a hole where the ground caved hours ago, from the woman’s storm, he throws her down into the roots below. He chuckles at the satisfying sound the body makes as it lands. The echo from the cellar sounds like a belch from the Nemeton, a tasty sacrificial appetizer before its real meal.

 

He makes his way over to stump and draws a small crystal quartz stone from his pocket. He pulls out six others in varying shades and shapes. He arranges them equally around the newest intact tree ring to form a circle. He unsheathes a jet stone blade with a small silver handle and begins. Peter uses the presence of quartz in seven to hold and purify the dark Nemeton’s energy. The quartz’s power is amplified by the jet stone in the knife. The silver handle calls to the moon in the ritual Peter has planned for decades.

 

The Moon goddess is at her strongest tonight, full and heavy. Her mother role to all wolves, Peter will give the Moon great honor and power in his ritual for he wishes for her blessing. She will briefly hold power over the Great Mother, spirit of the earth. The two sisters the Moon and the Sun, forever dance to sway the Great Mother’s attention. For the Great Mother or Goddess’ short subservience, Peter offers a greater gift; to the bored deity he will bring about the struggle of Paradise. He will begin the epic game of good and evil, which is the ultimate entertainment for the fates, and he will win their game. He will be king, king of the wolves and all Paradise. He smiles insanely at the thought. Alpha King of all Her creatures. Humans, once again will know their rightful place, under the wolves.

 

He carefully unfolds a small leather bound book and etches out the ancient symbols into the stump, interweaving the design with the quartz stones. He has only until the moon sets a short time before dawn to complete his work. Time passes fast as his hands grow more cramped in his rush. The soft glowing quartz stones flicker green just as the moon disappears and the etching flashes white. The black liquid evaporates inside the glowing stone circle, leaving a purified space. Peter grins in success.

 

Looking to the sky, dawn breaks over the trees. Pleased with his success, he allows his tired hands a brief celebratory moment, and then settles his mind back on the next task. He must preserve all his hard work before the emissaries notice or it will all be for naught. Bagging all the stones, save one, he slips a leather sheath over the knife and reverently folds the book away in his satchel. He places the glowing stone into his hand and lifts out a skin bag.

 

“My precious,” he gleefully handles the bag, “all the trouble of finding you was so very worth it.” He holds the dragon skin pouch, which allows the werewolf to handle the pure ash, in the same hand as the glowing quartz stone. He tips the contents on the ground and walks smoothly clockwise around the Nemeton’s blackened stump.

 

“And the old man was happy to fill you with ash too, so very generous.” The cleansed energy stored in the crystal does all the magic for him; it charges the pure ash into a protective barrier. No other magic user or creature, but himself can cross.

 

“Paradise awaits, thanks to you Múinteoir.” He gently caresses the satchel holding the old book and walks into the early morning fog.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

BEACON HILLS HOSPITAL CANCER WARD (Early Afternoon, the day after darach-alpha fight)

 

His emissary will likely never return. Perhaps it was not his blindness that clouded his vision, but rather his unruly chess pieces. They have long strived to outmaneuver the master. His great victory plundered by a pawn he once thought expendable, now he will never recover such a valuable piece. Well he probably lost her the moment he had her apprentice, Braeden, killed. Now, she is free and armed to take him with her own pieces. Her honey words months ago turned his attention from the Adderall junkie to focus his game on winning the true alpha. Honey and flies.

 

He moves his pawn over the fine inlay to the white square, “It’s your move, my friend.”

 

Gerard Argent coughs a full and chunky glop of black liquid from his lungs to the white kerchief. His old friend is drooling and looks gaunt from the cancer, but the alpha doesn’t forget he is a dangerous man.

 

“Have you remembered yet?” Deucalion asks and lifts his head from the board to take in his opponent’s expression.

 

A leather patch that now adorns his lined face, Gerard grins inwardly at the man’s question. “You would think me daft Deucalion that I would invite you here to play without a little insurance.” He lifts the leather and a glowing yellow eye winks out at the alpha werewolf.

 

“Ah, so it does not matter that the young Hale’s bite didn’t take. Your blood just remembered, lucky you. Though, it’s a little too late, I can smell the death on you.” Deucalion says as Gerard’s emaciated body give a shudder and more black liquid drips from his head’s orifices.

 

Gerard draws the kerchief to his dripping nose ignoring his tear ducts and ears and moves his black piece. “The hunter Alexander Argent, so many years ago killed himself after he read the passage and realized your bite would take.” He places the soiled fabric down and drags his wrinkled finger across the gold leaf pages of _The Book of Moon_.

 

Gerard nods his head to Deucalion, the gesture saying much more than to hurry along with his move. Perhaps, it’s a nod of gratitude for removing the next in line to rule the Argent clan, so there would be no fratricide. Deucalion does not know what the nod means; he only knows things are rarely as they seem with this old man.

 

“We Argents and our love of drama, but it’s no matter. Alex never held enough conviction to carry the line. His blood was weak and he outright rejected his birthright with a sawed off shotgun. Sure he was enough to be the ruthless killer my father trained him to be, but he always was a sheep. He scoffed at the very idea that we carry the same blood as those we hunt. He believed no creator would place men below the dogs. Humans as their messengers!” Gerard says in mock horror. “The fool, he rejected it all.”

 

Deucalion chuckles at Gerard’s accurate tone of his brother’s squeaking voice and takes a drag of his scotch, “Ah, the hidden agenda of the Argent Clan; the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing. To imagine the greatest werewolf hunters are actually the descendants of wolves, who chose to become human. Oh my, how they must turn in their graves as they watch you revert to their primal beginnings.” Deucalion rolls his clear eyes with equal parts scorn and amusement at his old friend’s two faced family. “ _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent._ We hunt those that hunt us. Come Gerard, such mimicry and tastelessness; though, hunting is an effective cover for the elimination of candidates in werewolf families. The Argent family tasked by a noble king to find the one designed by the Creator to open Paradise... Checkmate.”

 

Gerard watches the board with distracted interest. Smiles and up looks into bright clear eyes of his longest competitor and enemy. The silent peace of the man disturbs the old hunter greatly. ‘So he has weathered the proverbial flood and thinks himself clean.’ Gerard makes no move to save his chess piece.

 

“Humans call it protection, others call it genocide, and I call it chess.” Gerard cackles out and spits a glob into the clean carpet of the hospice facility. His lips pull back to reveal elongated fangs and a lolling tongue. A revolting form between man and monster as his jaw elongates.

 

Deucalion doesn’t react fast enough as the man lunges out of his wheel chair and catches the werewolf in his throat with very wolf teeth. “You know I once thought you to be the wolf, now I can cross you off my list as killing werewolves is the duty of proud Argent.”

 

“You shifted.” Deucalion growls out through the flood of blood that flows from his mouth.

 

Gerard just reacts by thrashing and tearing the alpha’s throat out. Deucalion’s newly restored eyes dim as he collapses in shock. His airway missing and bleeding heavily, the alpha cannot heal fast enough. His blood pressure drops and his brain is starved of oxygen, he hits the floor dead.

 

“And they said you were a man of vision you didn’t even see that coming.” He moves the eye patch back over his now crimson left eye and stands. He strides with a strong straight back out of the cancer center leaking black mucous all the way.

 

“Paradise will solve the curse I live.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beacon Hills Animal Clinic (Late Afternoon, the day after the darach-alpha fight)

 

“Uh… I need a vacation.” Stiles bounces his knees up and down in irritation. He’s been waiting for Deaton and Scott to finish talking, but they just keep going on and on. He just wants his pillow and to be home with his dad. After the events of last night, he should be home with his dad recuperating. His forehead is a mess from the jeep’s crash during the darach’s storm. He hasn’t slept well in days knowing his father was missing; accident related black-outs not being conducive to restful health and all that, but he is here on pack business.

 

Isaac is flipping through the new coffee table book laughing his head off at the wet dogs shaking with contorted and comedic faces. Stiles has already spent all his spare energy chuckling at the slow motion photography and just wants to sleep, but Isaac keeps maniacally laughing at random photos jarring Stiles awake. Isaac has already been through the book at least three times.

 

‘Give it a rest.’ Stiles thinks. ‘HeIl, at least it’s better than listening to the werewolf growling at pictures of cats.’ He looks to the floor where Modern Cat lays crumpled and torn from Isaac’s earlier toss. He draws his feet up to the seat next to his and tries to enjoy a cat nap.

 

“That bull dog is just hilarious!” Isaac giggles.

 

‘He is fucking giggling.’ Stiles feels enough courage and rage to try and strangle a werewolf.

 

Isaac must smell the cranky ions Stiles is progressively emits because he closes the book and leans back. Crossing his arms and closing his eyes. The circles under Isaac eyes are just as bad as Stiles. He just has the added dark pressure from his tie to the Nemeton. ‘And Derek… Shut up brain.’

 

“You know you could just leave.” Isaac mumbles.

 

“Nah, it’s alright I’m your guys’ ride.” Stiles kind of lies. Isaac is probably arching his eyebrows at Stiles lie, but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes.

 

“Whatever man, but thanks.” He pulls out his phone, probably to play a game or text Allison.

 

Stiles is just thankful he puts it to silent mode as he crawls through the arms of the row of chairs to lie flat and try to nap. It is tight and feels a bit like wood restraints holding him securely to the uncomfortable seats, but he could care less. ‘A vacation to paradise,’ He sleepily thinks and nods off.

 

…

 

Scott looks to his phone to see the message. Isaac has sent another photo. The caption reads, ‘Stiles’ new girlfriend,’ which is more intriguing than the last photo’s, ‘Can we get one?’ He opens the mail to see it’s of Stiles crammed across the chairs in the waiting room drooling and cuddling a ficus plant, which is just as funny as the mastiff puppy shaking its head dry from the earlier photo mail. Only the picture of Stiles is not as cute and it’s kind of sad. Stiles really needs someone to cuddle him back.

 

“What of Ms. Blake?” Dr. Deaton questions Scott, ignoring the interrupting phone.

 

Scott is sitting at ease with the older man in the back of the clinic. The hazy warmth of late afternoon light is lulling Scott to sleep.  Last night was exhausting after the big fight, everyone involved had to regroup and hash out a collaborative story for the Sheriff to explain to a very intrusive and worried department. Not to mention Scott’s FBI father told them all to expect interviews in the coming days.

 

All of the pack and allies ended up sleeping in until midmorning, when they should have been securing their perimeter and checking up on loose ends. In addition to that mess, Deaton had worried Scott enough that the Nemeton’s pull would draw other supernatural like a beacon. He didn’t press for vigilance when he knew their numbers were stretched and everyone was so emotional after such a harrowing event. He wants to be a fair alpha not a tyrant. So things got delayed.

 

He returned from patrol with Isaac and Stiles earlier this afternoon. Retracing his path to the distillery he found nothing. Well Peter’s scent lingered in the air, but he was advised by the Sheriff and Derek to help clean up any evidence in the loft and distillery that could be connected back to the pack. He is pretty sure Peter was not responsible for Ms. Blake’s missing body, as his scent trail in the distillery never comes in contact with hers. ‘Peter who is reluctant to fight, does cleanup duty well,’ Scott thinks to himself.

 

“I don’t know. When we went back inside the distillery her body was gone.” Scott relays to Deaton. He picks apart Deaton’s poker face with his new alpha sense. He still settling into his alpha powers, but when Deaton’s slight twitch in his eye indicates a strong enough emotion, Scott knows it is an important tell.

 

He knows Deaton is playing dumb leading him through the questions he probably already has answers to, the question is why. He is certain he can trust this man. Deaton has always believed in Scott, he pushed him to become the leader he is. With Deaton’s guidance he feels he can keep the power in balance and be a fair alpha. As a surrogate sacrifice the darkness tests him, but he has a strong base in his mentor, pack and friends. So he decides it is time to stop reacting and start anticipating these quiet moves Deaton makes, “But you already knew that, right?”

 

Deaton gives a small shrug. “I was concerned and still am. Tell me Scott how do you feel?”

 

“I’m fine, Deaton. What are you not saying? Do you know where Ms. Blake’s body is?” Scott is just tired of talking in circles.

 

“Humor me a little. Would you say you’re feeling tired and angry?”

 

“I think it’s fair to say things have been busy. I just need to catch up on my sleep, I am not angry. Why?”

 

“Well, I’d encourage you to continue to monitor your feelings, and see if things begin to lighten.” Deaton is still dancing around.

 

“And Ms. Blake’s body?” Scott pushes.

 

Deaton nods to Scott to show he acknowledges Scotts question, but continues his own questioning. “Do you feel the darkness in your chest of the Nemeton?”

 

“Yes and no. It doesn’t feel as bad as I expected. It’s there and still dark, but grey.” He feels the band pulsing. Sixteen hours underwater and another full day later, he doesn’t think his sacrifice to be the utter doom that he anticipated from the druid’s dire warning.

 

“Scott, what of Allison and Stiles?” Deaton presses.

 

Scott holds his phone up of Stiles cuddling the man’s ficus plant and gets a chuckle from Deaton. “If that isn’t ironic,” Deaton mumbles.

 

Scott tilts his head in confusion, but continues, “I haven’t spoken with Allison today, but Isaac says she is fine. Stiles seems exhausted, but he got banged up in the storm. Human healing is glacial. He is a bit testy, but that’s normal, I guess.”

 

Deaton turns his back on Scott and rolls out his shoulder. “Scott, Ms. Blake...” he begins, but is interrupted as the back service door opens.

 

“Alpha McCall,” Ms. Morrell enters. “Brother,” she adds as an afterthought.

 

“Emissary,” Scott adds a little testily at her ill-timed entrance. He was just about to get an answer out of Deaton. He focuses on the woman, she looks in fair health. She certainly doesn’t look like Deucalion's white stick was jammed into her chest a couple days ago.

 

“I am no longer such.” She claims. “You may call me Marin or Ms. Morrell.”

 

“Alan. Deaton.” She corrects herself at the cold look her brother gives. “Take me to the Nemeton, please.”

 

“It no longer matters. We are too late.” Deaton replies looking to his sister.

 

“What do you mean?” Scott asks. He feels the tension pooling in the room. Ms. Morrell smells furious and Deaton smells like his normal calm self with a sad note of resignation.

 

“Peter Hale has already drained the Nemeton. You, Stiles and Allison should have experienced as surrogate sacrifices to the Nemeton, only a few seconds of death. Instead the ritual took much more power in the sixteen hours you three were in the water. Peter has drained the tree of everything.” Alan finally admits.

 

“YOU!” Ms. Morrell screams, “You used children as surrogates. You endangered Scott’s status as a true alpha, when you had other options for finding the tree.”

 

“There were no other options.” Even as the lie in Deaton’s heartbeat flutters, Scott stands calmly between the two druids to try to maintain some element of peace.

 

“No other means or just perfect for your own needs,” Ms. Morrell accuses her brother.

 

“Just as your own wants would in no way benefit from a ripe tree and newly turned alpha.” Deaton barks back. “Or is it his connection?” He motions at Scott, “His tie to the Nemeton has ruined your plans, dear sister. Or will you tell me it was all Deucalion’s vision and you have no fault in this? Perhaps you even suggested another to Deucalion, one you knew to have the innocence necessary to fulfill the Goddess terms?” He condemns Marin.

 

She doesn’t answer.

 

“So you walk into my clinic to ask me to bring you to the tree, just so you can check the welfare of the tree, in your selfless effort to restore balance. Is that right?” Deaton pushes.

 

“Yes,” she clearly lies.

 

Her dark eyes still her brother from showing her the door. She draws herself up in stature and hardens her voice. “You are messing with our very existence over some fable. I know you are, as is Peter, as was your teacher. I know because Deucalion knows and he had hoped to open Paradise himself.” She admits which means nothing to Scott, but clearly shocks Deaton.

 

“And while I was working with the man at one point. He is no longer a threat, so there was no need to throw blame!” She screams.

 

Isaac comes bursting through the service door, having heard the commotion and run around the mountain ash barrier. Both druids back up as the beta joins his alpha.

 

“What’s wrong?” Isaac asks, but only receives a shrug from Scott.

 

“There is no guarantee you will not return to the demon alpha. You returned to the man after he killed Braeden. Did her life mean so little that you would sacrifice her for a little trust among the Hale and McCall packs?” Deaton and Morrell look over to Isaac.

 

“You are a bastard. I sent her to save Isaac, to maintain balance.” She starts to lose her composure and continues with tears in her eyes, “Deucalion was a psychopath. By the time I figured out his game he already had me by ten moves. Braeden and I were desperate. Since I was in such a bad position to react to his madness, I played to his weakness. He was already wary of druids, but he didn’t have Peter’s knowledge in the arts. He had the book. I may have said a thing or two about the maiden…” She pauses as she sees Deaton stiffen. She pans over to the clueless werewolves and back to her brother. She smirks as she thinks, ‘Hide while you can Deaton. I will bide my silence for now.’

 

“He was never after Derek Hale he wanted Scott. He knew of the Hales lineage, but assumed Scott’s uniqueness in that line to be the key. All I have done in the last year was to prevent the scenario you all but paved for Peter.” She sneers out. “Not just Peter, but any other despotic fools desperate enough to seek Paradise.”

 

“Okay I’m pretty sure I have no idea what you two are talking about; Scott, you?” Isaac says and looks to Scott. Scott just furrows his brow and crosses his arms, thinking the siblings are done fighting. He steps back to Isaac’s side, so he can see both druids at the same time. Deaton is still standing close to his sister, but a troubled look dons his face instead of the accusing glare from earlier.

 

“Besides dear brother there is no threat from me returning to him, the man is dead.” She blurts out.

 

“Deucalion is dead?” Scott asks through the shocked silence.

 

“Yes, Alpha McCall. He died sometime today, anywhere between the eleven-to-one nurse check at the Beacon Hills Hospital Cancer Ward.”

 

“Deucalion had cancer?” Scott asks.

 

“No,” she rolls her eyes. “Argent Senior killed him over a game of chess.”

 

“Chess? What are you talking about? Gerard was weak and dying the last time I saw him. I pulled the pain from his body. He was geyser of black poison from Derek’s bite.” Scott is no longer the calm barrier between the fuming siblings, he is confused and angry. He allowed the alpha to walk away yesterday after the fight on Derek’s word, only to be murdered the next day. “What the hell is going on?”

 

“Gerard killed him for his alpha power.” Deaton does nothing to clarify Scott’s and Isaac’s confusion.

 

Ms. Morrell nods. “He has always known apparently. He just assumed the alpha bite would work, jog things along faster. Now he’ll use power force from the alpha and the silly book to complete his transformation. He will bring ruin.”

 

“Stop! Clarify for me please,” Scott stares down the druids with glowing red eyes, “Gerard Argent is a werewolf now or not? What do Argent and Deucalion have to do with the power Peter stole?”

 

Ms. Morrell defers to Deaton. Deaton seems to calculate telling Scott something. Scott softens his face to his puppy look and his mentor caves. “Scott and Isaac, do you promise to withhold this information to all others, swear by the Moon, you’ll find as werewolf you cannot break your oath. You can hear no more otherwise,” both nod and speak their oaths. He stretches his senses and feels nothing from his wards. He begins, “There is an ancient book… Wait, where is Stiles?”

 

“He got mad he couldn’t take a nap peacefully when you started shouting and left. He said Scott and I could deal with it and to run home with our ‘werewolfy powers.’ He was pretty cranky, must be that time of the month,” Isaac snarks.

 

“Hmm. Lighten up him, Isaac. He probably bummed about Derek too.” Says Scott empathetically.

 

“What about Derek?” Deaton asks quickly.

 

“Um, He and Cora are leaving Beacon Hills, they texted the group earlier this morning.” Scott looks over at Isaac.

 

Isaac shrugs off Scott’s concern. “I’m fine. I just thought that with everything safe again, he’d still stay here; he’s like my older brother. I guess he has his real family again, besides Peter. He’s probably mad at me for shifting alliances to Scott. With his new beta position he doesn’t have the responsibility to stay. I can’t blame him. Beacon Hills has been rough on the man.”

 

Before Ms. Morrell can fall into councilor mode, Deaton interrupts. “He is leaving? When?”

 

“Dude, you got the message too.” Scott pulls up the mass text on his phone and Deaton reads, ‘Cora and I are leaving tomorrow before dawn. This is now home for the McCall pack, guard it well. Peter claims safe passage as an omega and Hale, on Hale land. I don’t care what Scott decides to do about him. Headed east. We’ll be around town today. I’ll keep this number. Don’t abuse it Stiles!’

 

Deaton is silent and brooding. He starts pacing and looks wired in panic after a few moments. “Shit!”

 

Scott watches his mentor and analyzes Deaton’s reaction before the man turns back into his usual calm self. Though Deaton looks poised, there is a new fire of urgency in the man’s eye. Ms. Morrell seems to know her brother’s mind as well. Derek’s impending absence has greatly unsettled the man. ‘Interesting.’ Scott thinks and Morrell seems to agree by the sideways tilt of her head.

 

“Going back to our discussion boys, I am going to need you to keep an open mind.” Deaton begins.

 

Whatever truce Deaton and Morrell come to, it is met with solidarity as they face a new evil. “While Peter’s actions are selfish they are both a good and bad catalyst. He seems to have at least prevented the darach’s return by slaying her.” Deaton looks to Scott, “Her body is now decaying at the base of the Nemeton. Peter has used her blood in an ancient ritual to cleanse the tree and capture the energy she collected from the sacrifices.”

 

“So, he wants to be a super alpha with the trees power. Come on, this is Peter, we all knew he would try.” Scott laughs in confusion, not knowing how else to react to the morbid truth.

 

“If only it were that simple Scott,” Deaton clasps a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “He will try to kill you, only to prevent your interference in his plans. Your true alpha nature means little in game he and Gerard now play. Now with Deucalion out of contention, they will likely destroy our world.”

 

“Wow Doc, way to lay it thick. What do you mean? You still are making no sense. Ms. Morrell can you explain better than Deaton, ‘cause we need to know this to stop Peter and Gerard, right?” Isaac is really lost and just as tired of this hidden conversation the druids are holding around him as Scott.

 

“Fine. Boys, there exists a legend from a book many have wasted away trying to decipher. It claims that a wolf chosen by the Creator can use a flower maiden as a key to open Paradise, thus altering all reality to whatever they wish. The alchemists developed a being from a lunar flower called the flower maiden. Supposedly, this book claims the origin of human’s is from the wolf and that man’s position is below the wolf. Most wolves we know as the subspecies in _Canis_ have lost their magic, growing dumb in their savagery and forgotten purpose. Others became human to survive by renouncing their birthright. But some adopted the technique to blend in with the humans, while maintaining their wolf nature. You know as werewolves.”

 

“ _I tell you now the words of red moon, from the Great Spirit was born the wolf and man became its messenger_.” Deaton quotes directly from the book he pulls from his exam coat pocket. It is a small faded leather bound book with gold leaf pages. “This is the _Book of the Moon_ or _Lunar Tome_.”

 

Scott sniffs warily at the book held out for him to take. It smells of old leather and of ink, but the pages smell of amazing.

 

“The parchment is made of lunar flowers.” Deaton adds helpfully as both Isaac and Scott fight the urge to rub their faces in the delicate book.

 

Scott scents the book and picks up that only a handful of people have touched its pages, which is odd given its age. Deaton’s scent is the strongest, but there is another scent similar to Deaton’s, it’s not from the man but his essence or magic. “It was your teacher’s?”

 

“Very good, Scott.” Deaton is patient with his treasure and Scott can tell what it means to the man. The alpha can smell great sadness on the man.

 

Scott carefully opens the book. He can’t read the words, but the pictures are nice. Wolves running and playing in open prairies and forests, hills with an abundance of large prey, clear mountain lakes painted with meadows of wildflowers adorn the pages. He turns to a page with a finely illustrated flower. He makes out what looks like ‘lunar’ at the top of the page. A large moon with a human surrounded by wolves takes the better part of the next two pages. The next page shows a mountain side sloping down into a valley and lake with a large obelisk in the background. The last pages are blank.

 

A joy washes over his and Isaac’s faces handling the book. Smell aside, the wondrous imagery is enough to melt the werewolves’ hearts. Paradise is found in the pages of the book.

 

Deaton carefully pulls the book back from the drooling werewolves. He earns twin growls, as he tries to protect his treasure from the over enamored werewolves. Finally the boys release the book and Deaton tucks it away, but both watch his pocket for some time as he talks. “So you see for yourselves the _Book of The Moon_. Now we must discuss the repercussions this book has had on our world. It has been hidden from public knowledge. Most druids and similar researchers laugh at the unauthenticated concepts. No one has successfully opened paradise or replicated a moonflower.”

 

“Peter has come across an old one who instructed him in our ways.” Deaton pauses and brushes his hand over his pocket.

 

“Is that how he came back to life, he knows druid magic?” Isaac asks.

 

“Yes, that is how Peter knows most of his magical knowledge. My múinteoir or teacher, sought to teach a member of the Hale line the truths of the world described in _Book of the Moon_.  You see my teacher came to the knowledge that the Moon Goddess had chosen a wolf born into the Hale line as honoree to find the Flower Maiden. From the Great Mother or Goddess, the Earth spirit, comes the Flower Maiden. Together they find Paradise.”

 

“So that is why Gerard would only take the bite from an alpha of the Hale pack. He wanted to greater his chance of being the Moon Goddess’ chosen.” Morrell looks shocked at Deaton’s nod in confirmation.

 

“I am afraid it’s true. Before, I thought his motives were purely vindictive as the clashes between the Hales and Argents continued like a Greek tragedy, but it seems the old man had a different agenda.” Observing the lost looks on the boys faces Deaton adds, “Gerard Argent is a member of a family that once walked the Earth as wolves. They must have chosen to hide among the humans foregoing their wolf forms, but retained the knowledge of wolf lore. Though they cannot turn into wolves, they know about their existence and magic. Gerard apparently holds more conviction in the wolf lore described of _The Book of Moon,_ than any other Argent ancestor. He has gone to great length in his lifetime to eliminate other wolf contenders to open Paradise. The guise of a hunter is perfect for his plans. He must have at one point narrowed the list to the Hale family. With his terminal disease, he has nothing else to lose and he is dangerous.”

 

“Wow that is just crazy! He kills werewolves to keep them from opening Paradise, so he can be the one? I thought he just hated us so much that he forgot the code. That is sick; the werewolves he targeted probably didn't even know about some obscure legend, let alone how to make a flower maiden or open paradise. It sounds like there are only a handful of people that have even seen that book.” Isaac reaches for the lost book and Deaton steps away from the angry werewolf. Isaac’s furious face falls to petulance as he is denied the siren of all smells to wolves, the lunar flowers, which construct the book’s pages.

 

“Yes, Scott. While I am sure he has studied the book, he doesn’t know how to perform the ritual. Peter and I alone are the only beings alive with that knowledge,” Deaton exclaims. “My teacher found a talented Hale to impart his knowledge in hopes the Hale line would pass it down to their children and so on, until the chosen was born. Peter was young and charismatic, he captivated the older man. My teacher believed Peter’s sincerity and integrity genuine, even as I doubted his choice. This caused strife in our commune, so he sent me out on my own to find my place among the land. Though by my teachers hand, I was placed as the Hale emissary ensuring his line protected the Moon Goddess’ chosen line. I was really no longer his student at the time, but he was a great friend, so I went with it.” Deaton’s eyes tear in his memory. “Peter’s wily nature, won him the place of a son in my teacher’s heart. He freely imparted the ritual to Peter, knowing the young man was not the Goddess chosen. Of course Peter would never share and seeks to use it for himself.”

 

Ms. Morrell’s eyes are downcast and she looks just as shaken by the usually calm Deaton. Just as Scott scents Deaton’s loneliness for his dead mentor, he smells Morrell’s sadness in the loss of her apprentice. Perhaps there will be a renewal of comradery in the siblings’ bond.

 

“Even with all the knowledge of the ritual, Peter has forgotten one thing, he cannot open Paradise. He is not the chosen, though I fear for us all that he’ll continue to try.” Deaton watches the last of the afternoon light dim into dusk.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -A note on the magic in the fanfic: I know very little about druid magic or Celtic gods and goddesses. The rituals are based on my imagination, save for the magic that is described in Teen Wolf. Please forgive me for any mistakes or liberties I have taken, I don’t intend to offend anyone. I may have also given a little power boost to the magic users in this fic, they need it.  
> -I was thinking about ‘beacon’ in Beacon Hills and thought my fictitious mountain town should be a play on the meaning of the word. I came up with Grian (GREE-un), which is the Gaelic word for sun. Also, let’s pretend all the municipalities in Beacon County have some sort of geographical feature in their name, hence the ‘Lake’ part of the name.  
> -The book Isaac and Stiles were looking at is called “Shake” by Carli Davidson check it out the art blog Colossal: http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2013/10/shake-carli-davidson-dogs/  
> -Stiles is eighteen years in this fic


	2. Chapter 2

Warning for Chapter: Violence and Non-con, Language

 

Seeds of Paradise by AzulMountain

 

Chapter Two

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Station (Late Afternoon)

 

“Please have a seat and the Sheriff will be in momentarily.” The older woman directs him to the metal table.

 

Chris Argent places his over brewed coffee down and decides to ignore the astringent drink. He sits quietly and watches as the deputy knocks on the door for the guard to unlock it. She slips out with a wink. Chris immediately drops his charming smile, he wasn’t trying to flirt. Maybe the cougar just does that with all the suspects they bring in or she’s trying to cheer him up. 

 

Word evidently has gotten around the office about how proficient his daughter is with weapons. He’s been clapped on the back twice already by laughing deputies. The Sheriff, who heard the story from Scott, may have slipped and told the entire department about the illegal and very comedic search that Agent McCall and his FBI team fumbled in the Argent household. Seems like things between the government’s bodies are not on the best of terms, which is in part why he is sitting here in cuffs. The hunter is waiting for an interview with the Sheriff and Agent McCall, regarding his supposed connection to the murder of a John Doe and the kidnapping of his father earlier today.

 

It would seem his father has been sorting out his personal business before he dies. Deucalion’s dead and he is here on a not so anonymous tip. There are probably others his father would like to scratch off his bucket list, but he hasn’t the time. He certainly has the motive and that’s what makes the man so dangerous.

 

The anonymous tip helpfully pointed straight at Chris Argent that he had been spotted following the unknown blind man around for weeks. So what if the men happen to live in the same upscale apartment building? Apparently being neighbors these days is enough of a reason for someone to be a murder suspect. Well he can’t say he never shot at the guy, but that was under extenuating circumstances and most definitely in self-defense. Skirmishes between werewolves and hunters tend to be violent. No the authorities assume Chris’ motive is something as pathetic as the man runs the shower at four in the morning and lets his dogs bark all night or whatever reasons neighbors kill over. ‘Kali’s toe nails alone must have lost the damage deposit, so maybe the building’s super was looking for his head.’ He chuckles at the thought in the empty room.

 

The fact the murder occurred in his father’s room probably is the main reason he’s here. He would have been contacted by the police anyways for details on his missing father. Convenient how his father’s tip off will likely tie up the police hours in their investigation and Gerard will be that much farther away. What Deucalion was doing visiting his father is anyone’s guess. 

 

He’s already moved all the incriminating contraband out of his cache to another safe location. He is not dumb enough to keep anything in the house he doesn’t have the legit papers for. The FBI won't come close to pinning anything on him. After hearing from Allison about the illegal search of his home, he spent the greater part of his morning in his lawyer’s office discussing possible legal actions against the FBI. So unless his father admits his own complicity to his crimes, like a dying man’s last chance for penance, Chris will likely be walking out of here before sunset.

 

Voices muffle through the closed metal door. He strains to pick up the conversation, but the words are too jumbled. He gives up listening and takes in the room. He traces over the dents from gunshots and scratches in wall that the kanima left. Most are freshly painted over, but to Chris’ hunter eyes he can make out the shoddy job. This force is either too strung out or too green to run efficiently. The pressure of losing so many compounded with the heavy work load has the Sheriff’s department scrambling. Add the pompous agents to the mixture and you've got a volatile explosive ready to go off at any moment. Agent McCall must know he has stepped in a steaming one, he just lost the lead and now he’s left with the smell. His superiors must be pissed with the stagnant investigation and McCall’s misconduct. Consequently, McCall must be riding the Sheriff’s department hard and any insubordination is disciplined with suspension. The bastard knows this hits the Sheriff in the soft spot. The alpha’s father has it out for Stilinski for some reason.

 

The Sheriff protects his staff. There already have been two escalations between the departments in the amount of time it took to bring him from the front door, run all his permits for the weapons he carries on his body at all times, grab a cup of coffee, and be escorted into the interrogation room. He just hopes the Sheriff’s heart is as strong as the man’s character because his own stress level is off the charts.

 

The fright of almost being ritually murdered, finding out your child died but came back to life, and is now branded with darkness isn’t enough to stop anyone’s heart. But mercy is never kind; no he gets to sit through another riveting interview with Agent McCall, in less than ten hours. ‘And the coffee tastes like crap.’ He grumbles felling a conniption on the horizon.

 

The feeble story the pack and its allies concocted to explain their absence appeased the department, but not McCall and he is slowly picking apart any one he can. The man is grasping at straws, but he is too close to the truth that things could go ugly quick. Chris just hopes that the time isn’t now.

 

The door creaks loudly as the men enter. No one catches anyone’s eyes and the silence rules over the room. Finally the Sheriff scoffs, “Give me your hands.”

 

The man pulls out a key for the cuffs, fits it in the hole, and lets the metal restraints drop in a clatter on the metal table. Chris rubs his already bruised wrists, but makes no acknowledgement of the nice gesture. The Sheriff pulls back up to stand sorely and rubs absently at his wrist’s matching bruises.

 

The agent has the wherewithal to look uncomfortable. It was probably his idea to put him in cuffs even though he hasn’t been arrested. There is silence for another moment as the two authorities silently head-butt over something, willing their glowering stares to knock the other one down.

 

“Alright, let’s begin,” Agent McCall growls out, as he turns to look at the Sheriff one last time. The Sheriff makes no movement to leave the room.

 

Nobody wants to be in the room. Well he’d like to hope the Sheriff and he have bonded over their shared misfortune, but the man has a lot to deal with. The Sheriff thought the lie covering for them last night was tough to justify, doing so again, so soon will destroy this honest man. Stiles was probably right to keep the man out of the supernatural world for so long. It puts him in a difficult position. The Sheriff is likely uncomfortable about Chris’ hunter profession taking the law into its own hands, but what can the Sheriff do without revealing the truth and getting a lot of good people, including his son, into trouble.

 

McCall starts the recording device and begins the interview, “Chris Argent, please describe your activities today.”

 

“Well agent, after we last talked this morning at five am, a bit early for an interview, but we know how eager you were to be assured of my safety; I’ll forgive you for that wake up call,” he pauses to show his irritation at the man despite his words. “That’s how my day began. I went back to sleep until my appointment with my lawyer. I was in my lawyer’s office from 9:30 AM until 12:30 PM and out to lunch with his office staff from the time after the meeting until 3:00 PM. Then I left the restaurant to go grocery shopping. I had just gotten a cart, when I was picked up by the deputy for questioning around 3:25 PM. And here I am,” Chris finishes. 

 

“That’s a long lunch, Mr. Argent.” Scott’s father remarks.

 

“The legal assistant is an old friend. She and my wife go way back. We needed to catch up, after things had settled,” Chris explains.

 

“Your wife’s friend? So you spent an extra-long lunch just talking to her good friend. Did you have the tuna salad?” McCall’s face adopts an inappropriate smirk at the innuendo trying to rile the man. His hands even add to the insult, motioning to guess the detainee’s possible erect size as a small four inches.

 

‘The bastard!’ Chris thinks, but composes his fury, after all this is on record.  A record his lawyer will be filing, as evidence in the upcoming lawsuit. “My dead wife and her college friend go way back, Agent,” he answers. “We haven’t spoken since the funeral. You’ll find her name and contact information provided in my written statement, as well as the waiter's name, and the restaurant listed in there that I, indeed, did not order the fucking tuna salad.” Chris is seething in cool rage at the man.

 

“Agent McCall you are out of line.” Talk of dead spouses clearly is not a safe topic in front of the Sheriff, judging by the man’s expression.  Especially, when assholes imply you are carrying on an affair. “Okay Chris, that is all we needed to confirm,” the Sheriff looks him in the eye for the first time since they entered the room.

 

It’s Agent McCall’s turn to look cross. He suspects both of them of collusion, but has since been warned by his superiors that further misconduct involving of the Argent son will likely land him a lawsuit and kicked off the case. Argent’s story proves the man ready and willing to protect his rights, if he went directly to his lawyer this morning. He storms up to the interview door and pounds on it to be let out. He doesn’t look back as he slams the door.

 

Both Chris and the Sheriff sigh in unison. Stilinski stiffly walks over to the other chair and sinks down in exhaustion. “Honestly Chris, I just came in this afternoon to hand in my request for time off. I start my three week vacation tomorrow. I’m thinking of taking Stiles fishing for a couple days, bit early for the mountain spot we used to go in Grian Lake, but it’ll be good for us.” He smiles thinking of his son and how happy he is his boy is alive. Hell, that he himself is alive after the kidnapping. “Then this shit happens and here we are… I wasn’t going to let McCall talk to you alone like he intended to, who knows the shit he is willing pull.”

 

“Look, we have footage from the hospital showing your father walking out under his own power and covered in blood. I think it is safe to say, you had nothing to do with the murder. Not to mention the deputy that fielded the tip, positively identified the caller as Gerard Argent. The boy recognized his voice from questioning Mr. Argent yesterday, regarding your own missing status. Lucky yeah,” The Sheriff laughs. “So everyone suspects his call as a set up to buy time for a getaway. We have nothing on you.”

 

Chris brings his elbows to the table and leans into his cupped hands to rest his head. That news lifts the rest of his anxiety from his exhausted mind. He’s free from any charges, no matter how fabricated they may have been. ‘Looks like McCall was hoping for any reason to get me in the hot seat, probably wanted to tack on the darach’s and alpha’s murders on me too.  Lots of unexplained crime here in Beacon Hills, just as easy to convict a man whose sister has proven just as dangerous,’ Chris thinks.

 

They are both comfortable in the silence and peace that the good news brings in the relative chaos that is their lives. The Sheriff checks his phone as he waits for Chris to say something. He reads the new message from Stiles saying that he is home after the veterinary clinic and he’ll make dinner. He knows of Derek Hale’s departure from an earlier text and he can’t say that it’s bad. That young man has had it hard enough. He’s more worried about Stiles reaction. His son probably thinks his father in the dark, but he makes a living reading people. The Sheriff aims to get home soon to be with his sulking son.

 

“Well Chris, the department will be on the case, I’m on vacation.” He grins. “They’ll contact you with any questions and possible security needs you may like in place to protect your family from your father, though I doubt you need it. You may wish to discuss it for the record. You’re free to go. Take Care.” He stands and shakes Chris’ hand.

 

“Thanks Sir, I’ll think about it. You should know your dead man is Deucalion. The coroner will likely find strange results on the blood work, but nothing that will warrant further investigation. After all it sounds like they know how he died.”

 

“Yeah his throat was ripped out laterally through the esophagus severing the vertebrae and exposing the spinal cord. The teeth marks appear to be a ‘mountain lion’.”

 

“What the hell?” Chris looks like he wants to say something, but knows this is not the place to talk. “Well I hope they find my father soon. Thank you Sheriff. Better be off to the store before Allison gets home from Lydia’s. Apparently we got company for dinner.” At the questioning look from the Sheriff he adds, “Isaac Lahey and Scott McCall.”

 

“Be nice. They’re good kids.” The Sheriff warns. “Things have gotten complicated knowing about things, I won’t lie. But leave it teenagers to throw in some romantic angst, enjoy the comedy”

 

“Who wouldn’t,” Chris laughs darkly and they part.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hales Loft (Predawn hours of the second night)

 

Derek finds himself staring morosely out the loft’s windows for the last time. He stares past his reflection into the dark night; he places his hand to the glass and just broods.

 

He has yet to hear back from him. Even when he told him not to abuse it, he expects his phone to explode in a symphony of texts and calls; a cacophony of beeps and rings all through the day and into the night echoing in the empty chamber of the loft. But there is nothing. He expects the flailing boy to grate himself like cheese, when he crashes the metal elevator screen to demand Derek’s attention. In the boundless energy that flings Stiles in all directions, he’ll tackle a full grown werewolf in anger or passion, anything. But he’s not coming.

 

“Stiles,” he whines.

 

“Oh how he pines. _But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Stiles the sun!_ Derek you’re not a pine tree and it is night. You have no sun.” Peter cruelly mocks him from the man’s perch on the spiral staircase.

 

‘When did he get here?’ Derek thinks as his blue eyes flash in surprise. He grimaces at the electric blue reflecting back from the dark window. His short alpha tenure only granted Derek one positive, the alpha red eyes would cover his beta blue. The color always shocks him back into a dark memory filled with regret. Perhaps Stiles lack of interest in his life will save the loss of another innocent. Stiles is a human just like she was. How could he pressure him at such a young age into a lifetime commitment? Derek would likely screw it up with his ‘Hale Luck’ and irreparably damage the virgin teenager just like before. He’ll either hear from him or not. Derek cannot influence Stiles feelings for him.

 

Maybe space is good. Maybe time will help. Maybe he is just running out of town with his tail between his legs. Derek may be following his sister’s and uncle’s advice that he get out of town, but the closer he gets to the hour, the more he feels this is a move he is making for Cora’s happiness. Peter must see how torn his nephew is over this lack of development between his and Stiles nonexistent relationship. Because he doesn’t tease Derek about longing for the eighteen year old son of the Sheriff, well any more than he usually teases.

 

“Stop pleading Dianna for Stiles to cast off his vestal livery. The moon doesn’t care about your blue balls,” Peter snickers and then his face falls in disappointment as he realizes his nephew misses the meaning of his witty remark. “Some people have no sense of culture; well at least the boy’s eyebrows understand an insult.”

 

“Uncle, you look happy for a man whose family is leaving him all alone.” Derek tries to tame his eyebrows into a more indifferent position, so as to not allow the man any satisfaction that Peter’s words hurt him. But he fails; his eyebrows are tense, like they always are before some impending doom. This is all too often these days.

 

“Again; you mean again, Derek. Or are you forgetting when you and Laura left for New York? Or perhaps before that when my family left me for the afterlife in the fire? Hmmm, I guess I should be sad without all the lovely nurse ladies and lads in the burn ward to keep me company, how will I ever cope?” Peter smiles at Derek. “Perhaps I am just celebrating my own sunrise.”

 

Derek tries to tune out his uncle’s abuse; he is numb to his guilt trips these days, but when it comes to Stiles, he is open to all attacks and Peter excels at mind games. Maybe the man is right he has no sun. It stings Derek to think there will be no Stiles’ sunrays in his life anymore. Derek feels like a shadow and he can’t exist without light. Perhaps it will take some time before his sun ascends high enough to reach him. He holds on to that hope.

 

In Derek’s desperation, his mind begins to wander; he wonders how he’ll meet his star. Derek pictures a desert truck stop early in the hot afternoon. Stiles’ sun melts away his frozen heart. One note from Stiles’ voice and teary phone call later he whirls the car around at high speed to race the Sun home to his own beacon; or more likely, Cora kicks his emotional ass out of the car as she continues the vacation without him. He hitches back with an old trucker who relates his epic love story of a woman in a city and his ever wandering truck, never to see her again. Derek shakes roughly to rid him of the image of the trucker becoming an old sailor and him the young lad with glowing red cheeks sharing rum over broken hearts.

 

“God, I am up way too early.” Derek yawns and Peter just smiles coyly at him. He breathes out a sigh and checks his phone for the time. Cora is finally up and taking a shower, before the long car day. They’ll be leaving soon at Cora’s insistence that the weather will get bad in the mountains if they don’t get an early start.

 

Peter and Derek hang around in silence waiting for the last Hale to be ready, so they can say what little goodbye there exists in their awkward family. Honestly he wasn’t even expecting Peter to be here, but the gesture is nice. Well Peter doesn’t do nice, so Derek wonders what he is really doing here. Without Peter’s knowledge, Cora would be dead, even if it was Derek’s sacrifice. Peter did seem eager for Derek to give his alpha power up. He is likely planning something, but Derek has come to a point where he no longer has the will to deal with the colossal mess the next disaster will bring.

 

Derek returns to his pinning and watches the quiet predawn hours pass. Cora will be happy to drive given Derek has had no sleep in his vigil to answer the silent phone and she has yet to drive the black beauty. A flash captures his attention. As he watches, what looks like cloud lightning travels across the night sky. It’s a slow but active storm with all the flickering. Strange that the lightning is so localized and he can hear no thunder.

 

A small light breaks from the clouds. Derek watches as the beacon blips closer and closer as it descends from the cloud line, until it reaches the window jamb right in front on him. The soft light glows brighter as the beetle walks over the metal along the muntin and onto the glass. The beetle’s antenna moves about as its small red throat and brown body crawls over the plate until it is flashing right in front of Derek’s eyes. The bioluminescence lulls Derek into a trance, as he stares at the light show on full display.

 

 

 

“Oh Derek, it’s looking for a mate. Show her your lower abdomen and call it love.” Peter watches the scene descending the staircase in one leap to come to his side. 

 

Derek doesn’t even seem to hear him as he continues to watch the beetle in hypnosis. “Paradise,” Derek breathes so softly repeating the firefly’s message. “My mate,” he drones inwardly tracing the cord in his chest, as a sequence of thoughts and patterns flow to his mind.

 

Peter roughly grabs his shoulder and slams at the glass causing the firefly take flight. The light flickers on and off into the cloudy night, as the window pane rattles dangerously close to breaking. Peter’s pulse is racing. Derek shakes away his foggy daze and watches the lines crease in anger on his uncle’s face.

 

“What’s wrong?” Derek trips over his tongue. He must really need sleep, he can barely stand.

 

Peter watches him closely and his growl begins to grow louder and louder, until Peter gives a horrendous roar. Derek flinches back into a defensive stance ready should his deranged uncle attack.

 

Peter seems to realize his mistake and quickly excuses himself. “Tell Cora goodbye from me and leave. Leave Beacon Hills now and never look back.” He gives Derek one last hard look; he watches the confusion bloom over his nephew’s face. Peter peers out the window at the distant lightning storm and all but runs from the loft.

 

“Fine.” Derek doesn’t even say goodbye.

 

“Stiles,” he whines as he feels his mate grow farther and farther from him, even as their bond cord strengthens. ‘Come back to me. Be with me.’

 

Cora jangles the car keys as she stares at the closed elevator door. She hears the elevator car hit the lowest floor before returning. She pulls her duffle bag up over her shoulder and looks back at Derek. “I don’t want to know do I?”

 

“I have no idea. You heard his kind words of parting?”

 

“I suppose it’s safer than a hug from him. Let’s go.” Cora hands his duffle bag over and pushes the elevator grate back and steps into the empty car.

 

Derek closes his eyes and pulls gently on the cord in his chest. He feels it wiggle in protest. He resigns himself to wait for his mate. He’ll give Stiles time and space, but he refuses to wait around for whatever hell the weekly supernatural show decides to plague this town with. Until then he’s got his family and a vacation. He steps into the elevator car with a smile.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Predawn, same time as Derek’s early morning pining)

 

Stiles enters his dream standing on a swarm of fireflies; an actual shroud of blinking bugs. Amusement melts through Stiles’ wariness. ‘This is good,’ he thinks easing back into the cushy hold of the blinking insects. He takes comfort in their guiding presence as they navigate the dream world.

 

‘Twinkle on my friends,’ he laughs.

 

The soft flickering glow of his dream vehicle wisps him further from the town lights below into the dark night sky. There is a strong familiar air current that tosses the bugs away from his body. ‘Wow, no rocking the boat!’ He tilts wildly by the thrashing force of the wind, almost falling. The wind pulls tight on the chord to his heart urging him to wake, but Stiles dismisses the nagging feeling settling back into his ‘hope boat’ of fireflies. For once, he wants the quiet peace of sweet dreams, rather than the restless sleep and living nightmares he has suffered this past week.

 

Dread and caution kick in as his winged guides take Stiles over a familiar dark forest. Echoing off into the distance the Nemeton’s rhythm, beating in sync with the band around his heart, amplifies his growing skepticism that this is anything but a good dream. ‘Figures I’m not floating off to the Curly Fry Chow Down contest at the county fair,’ he complains.

 

The waning gibbous moon provides little light. What light does pass streams through the silver clouds giving the effect of falling celestial waters. He descends quickly to the forest laden with fog.

 

His shroud of fireflies is pulled roughly from his shoulders leaving an eerie chill to take his breath. ‘Ah dudes, maybe we could all have a better time at, I don’t know, anywhere but here!” He pleads the dispersing fireflies to come back.

 

Looking through the cascades of silver light he sees an intricate brand atop the shadowed stump. The runes and woven design pulse in his presence. Even from the distance, he can feel the tainted miasma has lightened. Stiles can see the dark sap dewing on entirety of the tree stump. The viscous black lifeblood of the magic that the darach forced into the tree stands in contrast to the stark white flowing pattern of the etching.

 

Whatever has happened to the druid’s tree, he knows that this ritual brand was not visible one harrowing night ago when he and the others awoke from their sacrifice hours before the full moon. His father, Allison’s father, and Scott’s mother now safe from ritual murder. Freeing family, but at a forfeit, a permanent band across his heart forever tying him to the tree.

 

Drawn by an overwhelming compulsion to examine the stump, Stiles picks his way over the thorny vines that surround the gargantuan shadow ahead. More and more blood pooling under each step as he comes before a ring of ash. Stiles grunts at the hot pain. He focuses fleetingly on the idea that he shouldn’t be feeling pain in a dream, but a soft fog folds that moment of clarity away.

 

The wood’ dust gently tingles his nose as he takes in the obstacle before him. This is a substance not burnt and mixed with sand, but pure, in the powdered form. It completely surrounds the Nemeton. Stiles raises his bloody foot to step closer to the white runes, but stops as he is repulsed again by the ash barrier. Even as the compulsion continues to pull him toward the druid’s tree, he can’t enter.

 

The dream world seems to miss this and time continues on in sequence as Stiles remains standing in the thorns, while the tree begins to draw away in a darkened tunnel. His desire to enter the barrier lessens as he slowly drifts away from the tree.

 

The familiar cord from his chest is urging him to feel the pain in his feet. Just as that wondrous space between dream and reality comes, a warm wind lulls Stiles back into the fog of dream. The hypnotic rhythms of many small beacons answer the quiet drone of a man chanting. Stiles attempts to hear the voice, but the fireflies’ descent from the surrounding forest distract him. Gathering into a thick flash of light, the once gentle shroud turns into a fierce horde of flying beetles. Unable to fight the force, Stiles tares up into the air and crashes into the ash barrier with an explosion of light; thundered commands pulse in a communal signal with the fireflies and Stiles feels the barrier burn away before him.

 

In one movement the horde of insects falls dead to the ground. His dream flight ends in typical Stiles fashion, a body spasm and epic fall. Stiles can no longer hear the dwindling chant, as his ears are ringing in pain. “Shit,” he barely gasps out. His chest is on fire with hot pain from the blunt impact and subsequent loss of breath. Cold creeps into his bare and broken skin, only barely numbing the growing pain as Stiles harshly recognizes he is neither dreaming or in his bed where he went to sleep.

 

Stiles can feel warm viscous liquid pooling under his naked raw back. The splintered wood gouging into his flailing limbs as tries to stand too soon after his fall and nearly blacks out for his effort. Stiles squints through his tear logged eyes and makes out a blurry figure leaning over to position his body, so the man can reach his bare neck. The clasp of a cold object around his throat freaks Stiles into a babel of an incoherent string of swear words and grunts as he tries to settle his lungs into the basic pattern of breathing through pain.

 

Gasping in enough air he screams, “What the fuck is this?” pawing at the cold treasure adorning the pale and bloody youth. He manages to fit one finger under the object and yanks only to rob himself of the air he just managed to bring into his battered body.

 

No answer follows the youths fear laced question. The man grabs his jaw and with his other hand and slips a small spherical object in between his teeth. He bites at the fingers, but they squeak past before he can cause any damage. Both of the stranger’s hands forcefully cover his mouth and nose.

 

Already feeling the pull to breath, Stiles swallows the thing. Choking he screams, “You bastard! What was that? Was it poison? I’m going to die aren’t I?” He barely makes out the words, as saliva pours into his mouth from jamming his fingers into the back of throat and attempting to throw it up. The heavy taste of earth, snot and tears fill his mouth with a delicate floral note. He isn’t given the chance to try to vomit again, as he hears the chanting resume. Littered in dead bugs and black vile liquid, Stiles feels panic settle in his chest.

 

A great pressure pulls him gracelessly into a heap on the stump and continues to push him flat to the tree. A glow of green light fills Stiles peripheral vision. All around his body the runes and graceful knot design he once felt so eager to observe activates.

 

Curiosity is forgotten and panic wanes as the youth’s numbing body feels the dregs of forced sleep. He tries to blink his eyes. Only he can’t and through tear filled eyes he makes out a cascade of white flowers falling from the silver moon. He tries to listen to the voice the man holding him in spell, but all he hears is his pounding heartbeat. He searches out for the cord tied to his heart and pleads for help. The strong vibrations of the spell pull him to darkness. He tries to believe he can survive this too.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes: Peter makes a couple references to Romeo and Juliet Act II Scene II Capulet’s Orchard, William Shakespeare. Dianna is the goddess of the Moon and patron of virginity, vestal livery is the uniform of the Vestal virgins, if one were to cast off the vestal livery it means losing her maidenhood and vow of celibacy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for chapter: violence, cougar stares, graphic illustration

 

 

Seeds of Paradise by AzulMountain

 

Chapter Three

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Predawn hours of the morning, Nemeton’s Valley, Beacon Hills Preserve)

“You’ve been busy.” Peter intones as he tips his nose to scent the air. A growl rips from Peter’s mouth.

 

‘Ah yes, he caught smell of lunar flowers.’ Deaton thinks to himself.

 

“Emissary to the Hale family, one sworn to loyalty, brother to me through our teacher,” Peter smirks at the fire the last comment brings to the man’s eyes.

 

“No my old friend, you presume I am loyal to you as a Hale, but my contract expired when Talia did. As to our brother status, you lost the honor the day you killed him.” Deaton side steps as Peter moves to counter, circling as they calculate the others intent; years of animosity behind each step.

 

“Such a dangerous dance we lead. It needs not end messily Emissary. Become mine, help me open Paradise. After all you do good work, creating the flower maiden for me.” Peter’s smug smile is enough to show any one the man should never be taken at face value. He is desperate, he is dangerous.

 

“I am no longer an Emissary, but the great goddess’ alone. And he is not for you.” Deaton returns.

 

The snake was bound to have checked on his project with or without Deaton’s interference. But most likely, Peter was alerted to his boundary being broken. Ever the strategist and slimy as an eel, he is the last person Deaton wished to encounter here. They came upon each other just outside the Nementon’s meadow. He was returning to the clinic after completing the ritual with Stiles, who is now completely absorbed into the safety of the now fully restored Nemeton. The large oak tree stands strong and whole with a healthy canopy and white bark now adorns the branches and trunk instead of dark. This new look is Mother’s gift to the Nemeton for protecting her flower maiden, until his counter comes for him.

 

Peter pauses from their circling and opens his closed hand to reveal a single firefly; it flies crookedly away into the brush. The werewolf is arrogant, but attentive to have noticed such a small messenger. Though to be fair, Peter is quite familiar with his magic. Deaton now knows exactly how he managed to track him so fast.

 

“You’ll find my dear nephew already gone from your influence. Too bad the imprint was interrupted before he could be swayed to stay for his dear mate. His flower is mine, their garden is mine.” Peter is certain he has Deaton beat.

 

He knows Peter’s next step will be to force the true alpha’s power into the ancient tree to free the Flower Maiden and Scott McCall’s life-force drained in the process. However, Peter lacks complete knowledge of the rite. A grievous oversight when he murdered his teacher before the man could impart all the details. Even if he had allowed his teacher to live he still cannot open Paradise. He is not the chosen Hale. Derek alone can and as much power a true alpha holds it is no match to Mother.

 

“Your move to push Derek away from Stiles is futile. You cannot control the fates. Your dreams will extinguish before the dawn. ” Deaton moves to circle around the man, but Peter matches each step and the dance begins anew.

 

Since he failed through the firefly to impart the complete message to Derek earlier, things are going to get a bit drastic on his part. He will need all his power to travel through time to link a memory for his plans to work. Without Derek, Peter’s actions will have destroyed the fragile balance in Beacon Hills and likely the rest of the supernatural world.

 

“Not going to happen, Druid. I am the Hale; I have always been the Hale to open Paradise.” He snarls as he drops his human appearance.

 

Now Deaton must face a desperate wolf. He is larger than any grey wolf in this world, the ancient creator’s blessing giving him more power than even the alpha position Peter once held. He throws a heavy cloud of ash over his form to form a perfect barrier. The ash will not protect him from Peter for long. As soon as the wolf crosses the barrier Peter will be stripped of his healing power, but not his natural abilities and Peter’s natural abilities can kill instantly.

 

Peter lunges at the man, there is a flash of blue from the mountain ash field then it is gone. Deaton dodges under the soaring jump of the wolf and immediately turns left while pulling a knife from his belt. Blade out and clenched tight in his fist, he turns to find the wolf. Peter is hidden at the moment choosing to observe the lesser known fighter. The wolf shocks him by getting under his guard and snapping low onto his calf from behind. Deaton takes the bite only so he knows Peter’s fangs are otherwise occupied, as he draws the knife down to catch the wolf on the side of the neck. Peter snaps and they break apart.

 

Deaton cannot stand and falls back into a defensive crouch. Well a partial crouch, as his leg cannot take the strain, but he is enough of a ready position that he swipes at Peter’s chest when the wolf comes again. The ferocity of the attack knocks Peter back. Deaton watches as Peter pushes his weight of his front to his hind legs and sits back sheltering his wounds to his neck and chest, while his head turns back to watch the man. The wolf looks stunned at Deaton’s speed and the damage he managed to inflict from two quick cuts.

 

Peter’s breathing grows heavy and uneven just as the early stages of lunar seed poisoning describe. The wolf wobbles, but remains in a threatening crouch should the druid come closer. He snarls and green mucous pushes between his teeth and curled lips. The druid sighs in relief and thanks his teacher for his gift. He cleans his knife carefully of the blood and green poison. 

 

Deaton wastes no time and places a poultice to his calf muscle. The herbs sting, but he can feel the bleeding slow. He watches as Peters eyes fall to half lidded and begin to bulge in the sockets. The wolf shudders and whines out, deflating of his will to fight and he hits the ground. His tongue pants quickly as the heat from the poison on the druid’s blade courses through his body. Deaton rests back so his leg can absorb the medicine properly; he waits for Peter to succumb to death.

 

He positions himself close enough to hear the wolf breathing, but far enough out of harm’s way should the wolf attack as he readies himself for the arduous task ahead. The wind picks up and Deaton focuses on Her presence. Pushing all he can into decoding her language, he watches as Peter stirs and tries to stand with a gush of blood and green fluid and falls back to the detritus. The true alpha approaches and he needs time to finish before Scott can interfere.

 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Martin family house, predawn before the earthquake)

 

Aiden is sleeping softly after Lydia’s first scare of the night. She screamed over her friend Stiles and worriedly called Scott. He doesn’t like that she turns to him, but the human in trouble is the werewolf’s best friend, so he can deal with it. Scott plays the dutiful hero and goes in search of his friend with the help of Isaac and Allison.

 

Lydia was disappointed to hear she hadn’t interrupted an awesome threesome with her late night call that only three teenagers crowded in the Argent huntress’ living room discussing their feelings. He would think they were lying given the sexual tension among them building to dam sized level, but he didn’t hear a lie from the alpha. Lydia had the gall to ask if that was on the agenda for later. Scott just hung up on her.

 

She had since fallen asleep against his chest, until she wakes to another fit and his werewolf ears feel like they’re going to fall off. The second episode of screaming starts and continues, even when her alarmed mother rushes through the door and finds the naked couple in bed. Taking her daughter’s hysteria as somehow the boy’s fault she tazes Aiden twice.

 

Lydia’s scream finally silences. She’s damaged her vocal cords, until they give out under the pressure. Teary eyes and a raspy voice she somehow convinces her mother to stop the shocks. Aiden rolls over full frontal and tries to relax his body from the straining tension and painful zap to his nervous system. He is still recovering from the damage the darach inflicted from two nights ago. This will set him back even more.

 

He calms his breathing and looks over to Lydia. She is clutching her mother with her back to Aiden. Her mother is giving him an approving look from over her daughter’s shoulder, even as she clasps the forgotten Taser by her side. Her creepy cougar stare breaks into a grin and she winks. He doesn’t want to be werewolf when he smells the woman’s lust for her teenage daughter’s boyfriend. He grabs a pillow and covers himself. ‘God women in the suburbs are crazy.’

 

That is when the ground begins to shake.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Nemeton’s Valley (predawn)

 

“Deaton, why?” Scott hisses at the prone man before him.

 

Magic draining from his body into the rune he just activated, Deaton grasps at the last of his reserves and starts his chanting anew. The ground shakes in response. Many will die for order and balance. ‘Probably myself, as well,’ he thinks. His lips still form the words as his mind stays sharp, while his body fades. 

 

Rain falls quietly around the angry crowd as the Goddess herself mourns her dying druid. The small book at his side is open to the blank pages. Blood saturates the corner of the page from the bleeding werewolf at the druid’s side, but the rain washes clean the taint to reveal a glowing meadow of lunar flowers. The once blank pages paint before their eyes, but no one notices the beauty, as chaos erupts all around them. The chanting rumbles through the forest. The ground begins to shake continuously. All save Scott fall to the detritus littered ground.

 

He has only managed to crawl ten feet toward the fallen man in the time it takes Scott, Allison and Isaac to get here. Peter angrily slashes across the druid’s stomach from where he can barely reach at Deaton’s side. Peter draws blood, but the cut is not deep enough to stop the druid’s chant. Peter uses the wolf magic to look human again and rolls to his back. The poison from the druid’s blade hampers the wolf his movement and the druid stole his ability to heal under the moon’s light with the ash. Peter knows he will likely die soon. With one arm still pushed to his flayed chest, the other reaches for his satchel. He can still be King alpha if he can fix this and stop the magic. He manages to grab the small quartz stones.

 

In the dark predawn, the charged crystals emit a glowing light. He opens the bag, but a vicious tremor causes him to loose hold on the bag. “No!” He screams over the loud rumbling of earth heaving under the earthquake’s power. The small stones scatter and fall below to the roots of the Nemeton. Peter aims to crawl there, but falls through a crack opening below him. A flash of green light precedes the traitor’s departure.

 

“I’m sorry Scott, but it is for the balance.” Deaton tries to pacify the teenagers surrounding him. Relief passes over the man, “At least Peter has been dealt with.”

 

All are huddling close to the ground, as the world splits and the tremors amplify. Scott alone stands through the druids force.

 

“Allison, we have to get to the tree! It’s the only safe place,” Isaac screams over the splintering sounds surrounding him. He scrambles to the girl as she rolls away from him across the tilting ground. A tree uproots and tips just to side of her head, bark splintering across her back. She cries in pain, but forges on to meet the werewolf. She crawls towards Isaac and he moves toward her, but the land gives first and they tumble headfirst into the cellar below. Isaac lands harshly on a sharp stone. A green flash of light and a second one to his side where Allison lands startles him for a moment then darkness.

 

“Why Stiles? I trusted you.” Scott pleads his mentor. His world is falling apart. Stiles is stuck in the Nemeton. His body absorbed by the monster. His pack has been sent to the bowels of said monster. Monster perhaps is not the right description because Scott can feel the lightness and hope in his chest where once the band burned cold in darkness. Despite the trees change, his heart still aches to tear Stiles from the prison, but he knows he cannot release him without killing him.

 

“Scott! Listen, to me. All I do is for the Earth and the wolves. Please do not lose hope,” Deaton feels the fading world around him, he must reach Derek in his past life for all to survive. The ceremony to grow a flower maiden in this world, to tie the wolf to his flower, to link the wolf to his past, all have taken a toll on the tired man. His teacher would be proud of Deaton, while his friends should they survive this will curse him. “You are a true wolf, remember your heritage and protect Her. Do not let Stiles open Paradise for any other than Derek.” Deaton calls to Scott as he disappears before the alpha’s eyes.

 

Scott only stands riding the aftershocks in sadness as he watches his pseudo-father vanish from his sight. He gives a mournful howl to the waning full moon and crumples in sadness. His pack is hurt, his guardian role failed, and his best friend turned into an ent. His eyes tear up and he chokes to keep his stomach inside his body, as the earth splits and he falls below sprawled across the sleeping forms of Isaac and Allison. There is a flash of green light and he falls to sleep.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Camaro, headed east on interstate, just before earthquake)

 

The fire flashes and smoke curls it into the starry night. The sage smoke settles again in the small camp. A whine whistles above the crackling of the fire. A small white wolf pup lays curled tight, nose tucked under tail, it huffs out the offending smoke and sneezes. A hunched figure with an ancient weathered face sits across from the wolf chanting softly over a rock and feather placed on the bare ground in a small circle. Derek settles across from these two to listen and observe. Each time Derek is dragged into the wolf’s memories he becomes more connected to the wolf.

 

The Shaman’s ritual fire always bothers the young pup. The pup’s blue eyes sparkle in reflection of the firelight, his tears pool in the memory that his pack is gone. They are dead from the hunters igniting his den and the surrounding forest. He alone survived under the guidance of the forest herself. The moon high in the starry night sky called to the young pup to follow her. Night after night he traveled on an unknown path to the desert flats, where he met the Shaman. He feels peace here; he is recovering and learning of the great journey ahead of him.

 

Derek feels a twinge of empathy for the young wolf, their stories are so similar. The werewolf watches the shadows dance across the wolf’s silky white coat. Intense blue eyes drill into Derek’s similar ice blue. He knows this is more than the wolf’s memories, it is his past life. His mind’s eye feels that their path is about to open. All these flashbacks to another life are for Derek to learn that he is to find the flower maiden and together open Paradise. But Derek has yet to accept this fate in his heart.

 

Derek’s gaze follows the wandering embers as they spit out of the fire and drift slowly to the ground. Breathing deeply he cleanses his spirit in the sage smoke. When he opens his eyes again the embers are floating about the fire defying the wind and gravity. The small sparks igniting then cooling only to ignite again.

 

‘What magic is this?’ It’s as if the twinkeling stars have fallen to the ground. All around him the small lights orbit the group. ‘Fireflies,’ he recalls a nagging memory about the cloud lightning from his waking self’s time only minutes ago, now feels like ages here in the memories of the little wolf.

 

A booming sound of thunder rattles Derek from his memory and he looks back to the young wolf. The pup barks in warning as it looks at the face of the Shaman. Derek turns to the shaman and flitches; this is not the face of old man, but a younger man’s. The wolf’s distrust is settled as it breathes the man’s scent. The pup decides it is the shaman, only different, and he settles back to a sit.

 

“Soon your journey will begin,” the young man speaks to the wolf pup, as he stares directly at Derek with a smirk. A small firefly lands on Derek’s nose and flashes, sparking a light greater than any normal firefly could ever manage and things shift. Derek realizes he is not idly standing off to side watching the shaman and white wolf, he and the wolf are one. The younger shaman’s face stares calmly over the fire at him. His familiarity shocks Derek greatly.

 

The fireflies swarm around the young man’s face then flash away with a crack of thunder revealing the original withered old face of the desert shaman. The scraggly old eyebrows crease as the old eyes squint at the young pup, now Derek, before him. He chants a melodic sound that grows more harmonious with the wind and the fire snuffs out as the shaman knocks his bristlecone walking stick hard to the ground.

 

Derek blinks to clear his vision from the sudden darkness, when they’ve cleared he recognizes he has returned to the dark leather interior of his car. Gasping at the abrupt end to the memory, he claws through the leather. He is reeling from the nature of this particular vision, more than any other he has witnessed in the last couple hours. This is the first time he recognizes anything from his life in them. Deaton was that man, the young shaman. 

 

“You sure you’re alright?” He can tell her idle curiosity for her brother’s strange behavior is starting to become real concern.

 

 “Fine,” Derek dismisses her in favor of calming his racing heart.

 

“You know Derek; I’d like to think you could trust me. You saved my life, more times than the whole mistletoe poisoning. A little emotional sharing wouldn’t hurt. Lying...” Kora gripes on. She probably will continue on for awhile, but he can no longer hear as he stiffens into a second trance.

 

The world is dull; Derek already knows he is dying. The heavy cloud cover of a blizzard flattens his sight to grays and white. The cold pool of blood under his body is black in contrast to the white snow. His vision is blurry. He is numb and he can no longer sense anything beyond the wilted flower where it lies crumpled from his collapse. The pale flower frosted over and stained red from his blood. He knows all that was once familiar will change; all, but the lunar flower. They will meet soon. He repeats the words to himself in a dying mantra, “Lunar Flower, Paradise.”

 

He whines as the dark settles. Stiles name comes out of his lips, when his previous life thinks Cheza.

 

This time Derek does not return as himself, but as the white wolf from his vision. “Stiles,” he whines repeatedly, the camaro swerves and he smacks his head. All is black.

 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE ANIMAL CLINIC (predawn)

 

The lights flicker on and off. The buzz of power pops a couple of times then silence and dark. Marin is alight with righteous fury. Her brother is the reason. A mountain of dog food slips and spills under the earthquake’s force flinging kibble free all around her and forming a circle, perfectly illustrating the barrier she had been forced into.

 

“DEATON!” She screams feeling a wash of familiar magic tremble anew through the land, amplifying the shaking. All night she has felt the rise and fall of Deaton’s magic. From her vantage on the floor she caught a glimpse of a firefly horde lighting the cloudy night. Now she feels the shaking earth and her brother’s magic gradually subsiding with his spirit. “No,” she cries mournfully.

 

Shortly after the werewolves left the clinic yesterday afternoon, Deaton had Morrell follow him back into his office to help him prepare the supplies they would need. She had just finished preparing an extraction of herbs and spirits for storage to replace the medicine she and Deaton may need that night, when Deaton tossed a bucket full of supplies into her arms and threw a handful of pure ash into the air expertly trapping the druid in a barrier.

 

_“Deaton!” She pushed her magic into the ash trying to force her will into it. No luck, it would break for no other magic being, but Deaton._

 

_“I must do this alone. He is mine.” Deaton’s face is resolved and calm; even as he sees his sisters hurt face. Vulnerability his sister for the longest time would never expose in his presence. He smiles sadly at her, they may have had a chance of reconciling, but the fates deny it._

 

_“Revenge; prepare to dig two graves, one for him and the other for yourself. Do not go alone I can help you.” Marin pleads._

 

_“Your words are likely ture, sister. The Great Mother will have her exchange and you need not be a victim of the sacrifice. I am sorry, but you’ll be safe here.”_

 

_“Sacrifice? Deaton what are you planning?”_

 

_“There is a toll the goddess demands if the ritual is enacted without the consent of the flower maiden. I hardly think Peter cares about the cost, even if he knews about the details in the rite. He began the purification part of the ritual for opening Paradise without Stiles’ consent. A heavy forfeit will be enacted on the earth and I will be the one to shoulder Peter’s debt. I’m sorry this is the way things have gone. Derek and Stiles are mates.”_

 

_Morrell looks shocked. “You’ve known all this time and did nothing?”_

 

_“Yes, but it was better to let things happen naturally or not at all. Stiles is much too young and Derek too hurt. I thought that there would be time for them to figure it out. Peter has caused great harm to the order and balance. Separating mates is the greatest evil. Any Paradise opened by that man will be tainted and all will perish.” Deaton gathers his bag and turns to leave. “Grant me one last request, even though you are furious with me. Please take care of the pack, whoever may survive this. Our family owes it to them and thank you. I am glad that we could work together again, even if it was short. May the Goddess’ blessings be with you.”_

 

Marin looks over to the bucket at her side and pulls out an apple. The tremors have stopped and she is safe just as her brother promised. Now she can only wait, until someone comes looking for Deaton. She hopes they are a friendly because she is helpless in the circle.

 

She sighs deeply, gagging at the pungent fish and meat smell of the oily kibble and waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d just like to reiterate that none of the magic/ritual stuff in this story is from the anime or anywhere. Nothing was really explained about Book of the Moon. In the Wolf’s Rain universe, the creator of the anime approached the flower maiden as a product of science and alchemy, not so much about the magic of god’s and goddess’. So everything about the Great Mother or anything in this story that deals with the druids or sparks or Lydia’s magic is completely made up. Please don’t sweat it; this is just for fun and not about being accurate to either works.
> 
> Ha ha… I created a lion wolf hybrid for Derek that will teach me to pay more attention to the actual shape of wolf eyes. Too bad to most of my other wolfies, they have kitty eyes or kohl eyes.  
> Also Peter’s hurt image made me really sad to paint, I love wolves and would never want to see them cut. So disclaimer wise no actual wolves were hurt in the process of painting that photo (and sadly it won’t be the last graphic picture in this story of bleeding wolfs or children or the Sheriff, what is wrong with me)… The border for that picture is not entirely my work, it is a brush from NadinePau-stock.deviantart.com with other tattoo designs the wolf and moon (from google image search) that I placed into the knot then erased parts with no permission. But a huge thank you to NadinePau for the excellent brush pack with ornamental pieces I have used on some of the other pictures in this work.  
> -The nude male forms are not the bodies of the Teen Wolf actors. The heads are based off actual photos. The wolf photos are from references as well (mostly google images), but some are from 2013 documentary called Living with Wolves.  
> For the photo manipulations all those are images were taken off the internet without the consent of the photographers. Please don’t move the images from this site; I don’t want anyone to get upset. Thank you!


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: violence, natural disaster aftermath, molestation by a tree, assault from a flying squirrel

 

 

Seeds of Paradise by AzulMountain

 

Chapter Four

 

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(Near Grian Lake, Beacon County exit off the interstate, morning after earthquake)

 

“Sir, this is it.” The Sheriff’s gaze sweeps over the buckled overpass back along the interstate, where a line of vehicles are jammed pack as the ruptured ground either gave their owners a headache with their insurance companies or made it so it would not matter. It’s all or nothing in this apocalypse the Sheriff finds himself in. Most of the commuters were probably on their way to work to be on the road at such an early hour. There will be many families in the numerous communities of Beacon County without a means of support for all the lives lost.

 

Exiting the department’s SUV, he joins the deputy as they weave through the debris and carnage. The survivors have been assisted to safety and the first responders have left to deal with whatever crisis zone is next on the Local Disaster Management’s triage list. Those not so lucky will have to wait for the non-emergency ambulances to take the remains to the Beacon County Emergency Center Mourgue.

 

He and his department have trained for this, but he still can barely make heads and tails of all that needs to be done. The Red Cross is already opening shelters to earthquake victims are pouring in. He got the call from the Department of Homeland Security that a unit from the Federal Disaster Recovery Coordinator would be available to assist the state coordinator the Governor's office had already flown in by helicopter. The Local Disaster Managers crises team has already been relegated to those officers.

 

The Urban Search and Recovery coordinator is already on the ground with units mucking the numerous landslides to hit Grian Lake, a mountainous town about eighty minutes drive northeast as the crow flies from Beacon Hills, for any signs of life. Later when the Sheriff has the maps, intel, and the experts they’ll know that the amplified wave that hit the interstate nexus, given the distance away from the epicenter and the geological location, to have propagated one of the worst disasters to hit the West Coast in recent years.

 

He pauses to clear his lungs from the heady scent of burnt car and diesel fuel. The smoke and dust crunching between his clenched jaw as he tries to keep his composure. Not two days ago he was strung up in a dank root cellar waiting to be murdered only to be saved by his son and his pack. The physical stress is taking its toll on his aging and bruised body more than he’d like to admit. The emotional pain of almost losing his son and learning about the supernatural has him seeing his life in a new light.

 

Yesterday, the Sheriff was granted vacation time. Even though he spent the first few hours of it helping Chris Argent clear his name, he was able to see his boy for a quick meal before he passed out on the couch. Stiles must have saved him a crooked neck by hauling him up to his bed. He was looking forward to his time off, he even told Stiles he didn’t need to go to school for a couple days. But it is just like the infamous ‘Stilinski Luck’ that a 7.1 earthquake, has the Sheriff rushing out of bed in the dark responding as he has been elected to serve on vacation or not. No matter how quickly his world is accelerating to an impending breakdown he will be there for his son as soon as he can. He needs to focus on his job. He has more respect for his son and himself to say screw it, hit the bottle and tune out the world like he itches to.

 

The firefighters were lucky to get the retardant foam applied before the fuse like chain of cars ignited the trapped vehicles in the sinkhole. The billowing smoke he first spotted thirty miles from the scene, now a quiet smoldering haze. His gaze spots a body as they walk on. He follows the charred hand to a partially crushed arm that is more or less attached to a burnt form hidden under the mangled car. The freeway underpass span came right down on the hybrid, dropping cars with it. He jogs a bit to catch up with the other man where he waits before a giant sinkhole that spans all three lanes of the interstate. It is about three to five stories deep depending where several dozen of cars were unlucky to land. 

 

“Rescue hasn’t got a sniffer unit in yet, but I am told they picked through the cars they could reach. We can’t get heavy equipment in for a couple hours maybe later on account of the inaccessible roads. Sure as hell not safe for a team to do it by hand, the ground still seems to be sinking,” his deputy remarks.

 

Edging up to crumpled asphalt, the Sheriff peers down into the gaping hole. “Hell,” the Sheriff can only say to the younger deputy. He has seen some hard things in this line of work, but that last two minutes has trumped the entirety of his career.

 

Sighing out the acerbic air, his gaze catches a black car half buried in dirt with the other half impaled by part of a delivery van’s back end. Only the rear plate is visible. His back gives a crack as he stiffens in shock. The all too familiar numbers he has personally run for a black camaro owned by a Mr. Derek Hale are all that remain unblemished on that once gorgeous car.

 

“Hell,” He repeats.

 

Momentarily lost in thought about how the Hale’s have their own version of ‘Stilinski Luck’, only more sadistic, he fails to notice the shifting dirt eroding the asphalt just to his right. He only manages a half step back before the slide pulls the man downward. The vertigo of fall only slightly phases his reaction time and he manages to grasp the horn ornament and grill of a semi-truck cab to slow his descent. He lands sprawled out on the roof of an old VW Bug pelted by debris that continues to erode from the rim above. His spine is bowed to the shape of the metal roof as the frame hardly gave under his weight. He expels a heavy sigh of relief, but ends of choking as he inhales the sooty air.

 

A frightened voice from above echoes strangely as the metal graveyard disturbs the acoustics. “Oh my god! Sheriff can you hear me? I am going to get a ladder or rope from the firemen,” the shout of the young deputy finally becomes intelligible in the jumble of echoes. He flees from the Sheriff’s view before he can answer. Not as spry and injured from earlier this week the Sheriff remains prostrate on the relic beneath him. He can commiserate with the car. They are probably about the same age and he knows he is on his last wheels. Though to give himself some credit, the bug probably no longer has its wheels attached.

 

Quiet settles around him, until he can make out a noise he could not hear at the edge of the sinkhole. There is a faint scraping sound of something scratching against metal coming from below the delivery van. As he turns to look over the side of the bug, a screeching noise of severed metal explodes around him. He barely catches the sight of a white blur as the thing struggles briefly to free itself from the delivery van’s side and is bounding up the hood of the van. It lands heavily on the bug, rocking the car.

 

The Sheriff grasps the roof and when the motion stops, he finds himself looking up the maw of a giant white wolf with big white teeth and ice blue eyes. The curl of lips and low snarl begin, until the wolf draws in a breath to scent the man he has suddenly came upon. The twitch of a nose seems to help the wolf decide the Sheriff is no danger.

 

Startled by the passive nature when the Sheriff expected violence, the strained man blinks in the surreal sight. Perhaps he has hit his head or just gone crazy. “Why is this my life?” He laughs at the absurdity of finding a real wolf in this precarious place let alone alive under all the rubble.

 

The wolf’s head tilts in curiosity or amusement to his question, briefly taking in the man’s presence and well being. The wolf presses his nose to the man’s throat then lifts his head to the air. He seems to regain his purpose and turns to leave, hoping gracefully vehicle to vehicle to exit the sinkhole. The Sheriff loses sight of the wolf’s silhouette as he blends into the sunlight.

 

A wallow from bellow of a very human voice cries, “Derek!” He can see Cora Hale peering through the gap the wolf tore in the delivery van.

 

“Why is this my life?” The Sheriff curses.

 

…

 

Not long after both the Sheriff and Cora Hale are sitting on the tailgate of an ambulance. Butterfly bandages adorn the Sheriff’s lined face. He has to suffer the with a cumbersome neck brace at the insistence of the paramedics. The sheriff only thinks they are coddling him so as to have a healthy living patient to focus on instead of the corpses in white body bags neatly lined up on the interstate waiting for transport. Cora of course is injury free much to the bemused aid workers.

 

Her harrowing story makes the news later as the interstate’s sinkhole sole survivor. Trapped for hours and remarkably saved by the brave Sheriff Stilinski, a stoic man who alone managed to tear a hole wide enough for the young woman to climb out. Thankfully, there is no news about a lone wolf’s appearance at the heart of the disaster. Cora vanishes before anyone can ask her to comment on the harrowing rescue. She remains gloriously anonymous much to the envy of the older man. Sheriff Stilinski tries to escape the barrage of media converging on the disaster, but that only fuels the press to wring as much material as the vampires can get. By now his body is bushel of plum colored bruises from when the root cellar collapsed. Those injuries compounding with his fall earlier add up to a sad sight, which of course makes him the perfect man to be the poster image of the earthquake. He can’t fan off the reporters and camera crews quick enough as they beg for personal interest stories. His face alone raises millions in donations for the disaster relief drives.

 

And the attention doesn’t stop because his public position demands televised press updates on the disaster. He has to remain in the spotlight. However annoying the attention, the Sheriff welcomes his department insistence that he take his requested time off to recover; it only takes one heavily damaged vehicle to seal the deal. With the federal and state level coordinators and managers on the job he knows Beacon County will be in safe hands. He will later learn how valuable his time off became when he no longer needs to play the role of public figurehead and only that of a grieving father.

 

 

…

 

 

The flashing emergency lights reflect in her steaming coffee. The Sheriff leads her to his SUV and they sit in quiet companionship away from the prodding paramedics. Overhearing this conversation might cause said workers to send them in a rush to the hospital for concussions. No this was a private chat off record. The Sheriff jumps right in, “So werewolves can shift into wolves now?”

 

“No, well ah, Derek he’s never done that before, but my mother she was a beautiful black one. Not a wolf, but had a full wolf form. She could only do that because she was an alpha and a Hale. I guess my family is unique like that. Derek used his alpha power to save me, so he shouldn’t be able to take a third form.” Cora mumbles through her coffee cup and takes a long sip.

 

“Sir that white wolf just appeared in the passenger seat as the tremors started. Derek gasped and just shifted into the wolf. It surprised me ‘cause he smelled strange and he just turned into a giant wolf… then I swerved and he hit the window and I think he really hit his head hard... then the tremors started and the car engine was straining and the tires… we were off the ground and then we hit hard… the tale lights of the cars ahead just were gone. I could hear the impact of all the cars falling. I slammed on the breaks. We were fine until car behind us hit and pushed us forward and again from a car behind the other one. The road tilted, we were falling... and the headlights were reflecting off the bumper of a car below and then I think I passed out.” Cora rambles through her explanation of the events to her crash in a hurry. “I awoke to Derek biting and scratching through the side of the van... But Sheriff that’s not important. Call Stiles he’s...” She stops talking to find the words, while he stiffens hearing his son’s name.

 

“Derek, he just sat rigid all of a sudden as we were driving. His wolf whined in agony. My wolf felt it. I don’t know how to say it… You know how animals, birds, and insects can sense when a natural disaster is coming?” Her eyes flash without her knowing. “Well this was nothing natural. The very nature of that primal sense is how intune we are with our surroundings and our goal of survival. But neither Derek nor I felt this coming. In the past the Hale family has predicted weather and earthquake activity, we know this stuff. We weren’t leaving town because of this.” Cora points out toward the broken interstate and into the mountains where whole foothills have slid into the valley below and chimney plumes from various fires fill the air with smoke.

 

He doesn’t turn from Cora’s face to look. He can hear the fear in her voice and coming from the supernatural he knows it’s going to get worse.

 

“This was not natural. Something or someone made this happen. Derek started rambling about smelling moon flowers or paradise or something. He screamed Stiles name and he just shifted to that wolf you saw. He kept whining as if he was in pain, well until he hit the car window. When I woke up he seemed calmer, but still driven.”

 

The older man’s heartbeat kicks up. Derek is a serious and emotionally cold man, yet impulsive in things he holds close to his heart. He will do anything to protect his pack. If Stiles means enough to Derek that he would chew through two cars to free himself to get back to his son. He cannot ignore the gravity of that man’s or wolf’s actions. Something has happened to his boy in the early hours this morning.

 

He fells the awful sensation of his heart clenching when he realizes he again put all thoughts of Stiles aside for work. Sure the tremors had been strong, but there was only minimal damage in Beacon Hills. Mostly reports of items falling from store shelves and the like.

 

‘God I can never get it right,’ he berates himself. In his rush to respond earlier, he didn’t check to see if Stiles was safe. He felt complacent enough that a simple text was sufficient on his way out of town. His message was that Stiles was to go to Scott’s until he got back into town and to stay home unless they needed to evacuate. His son knew the drill Melissa and he had worked out to keep the boys safe in any disaster. For all he knows his son will have slept through the earthquake and aftershocks as he himself did. If it were not for the several calls he got alerting him to wake up and answer, he wouldn’t have known about the quake until he switched on the news.

 

He uses his cell to bring up his contacts. The cell towers in this locale sustained heavy damage and all land lines are down, so he pulls out the emergency satellite phone and calls Stiles. No answer. He calls Scott next as Melissa is working a triage tent in the area. No answer. Allison Argent. No answer. Chris Argent. Nothing; beginning to worry, the man tries to call Isaac Lahey’s cell. No answer. Deaton’s clinic number rings on and on. He has no other way to reach the man.

 

Desperate he gives up any pretense of having a cool facade and starts shaking. He radios in for dispatch to look up the other numbers of members he knows in Stiles’ supernatural club. While waiting for dispatch’s reply, he gets Melissa’s voicemail and leaves a message for her about not being able to reach the boys. He knows she too couldn’t use her cell until she was closer to the towers in Beacon Hills, but on the off chance she calls in on a satellite phone, to check her phone she would know that he is worried.

 

Cora shifts uneasily as the man before her breaks with every failed end. Her tie to Derek has never felt so strong. She knows the pressure that had driven her brother to leave her stuck in the car like that is the stuff of legends, mates. She can’t blame him too much. When he seemed so unsettled worrying about Stiles that Mr. Control couldn’t even shift back. Human appendages would have made the job easier than the wolf teeth gnawing through metal.

 

Settling back against the car seat she questions, ‘How could Derek deny himself a chance like this?’ They were leaving, all but severing the cancer Beacon Hills had become; one epic trial after the next. Yet Derek’s wolf on some base sense, had felt his mate and he was still driven to leave. Peter, a walking tome of werewolf and magic knowledge, must have known about his nephew’s rare chance and watched him throw it away.  Her uncle had encouraged Derek to flee from the Alpha’s, from the darach, from the hunters, but maybe his push was for a different reason than death.

 

The radio crackles loudly, scarring the two from their thoughts. Dispatch replies solemnly with contact information for Ms. Lydia Martin. Probably thinking this is a measure to contact next to kin in the event of a fatality or injury. The Sheriff thanks her quietly and tells her he may have a possible 10-57 if this doesn’t work out, but not that it may be for his son. The Sheriff despondently dials in the number and waits for the call to go through satellite. After two rings, she picks up.

 

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Nemeton’s root cellar, early morning)

 

He smells the moon. He smells flowers. He smells blood. He smells rotten flesh.

 

Pressure on his eyelids prevents the teen werewolf from opening his eyes wide as he comes back to consciousness. He lets out a pathetic whimper and turns his head to the side. Rolling out from the paw that was pressed over his snout, ‘Paw, snout,’ he thinks and gives a sharp yip as his breath catches. His addled brain is not catching up to this bewildering sight.

 

“A dream,” he lies vainly to himself. Only he can hear his own lie and his heart rate is accelerating to frantic levels. What awaits Isaac is a place he does not want to be. Streams of morning light filter through the tree roots into the cellar below. “I am not here,” he tries again hoping to break the magic spell. “Nope. I am definitely not waking up in the roots of a creepy ritual tree.” Still it doesn’t work.

 

The brush of fur along the side of his face has him lashing out in fear. He wails in pain as he bites into his own tail. “Tail!” He screams. Scuttling up in shock he tumbles over a furry body settled in the tree roots.

 

A male wolf is sprawled on his back; yeah he can totally see the sex from this vantage, thank you. The brown, rust, black, and blond multicolored wolf is nustling the side of a smaller brown wolf. This wolf is curled into a tight ball. He scents the air alerting him to the presence of another wolf masked by the heady scent of flowers. Another smell wafts his way and he now knows where the pungent tang of blood is coming from. That wolf is draped over the tree roots of the Nemeton, further from the small wolf pile he rolled out of. The large grey wolf looks like he was in a major fight. His chest is flayed open with an angry red slash and a neck wound wraps from the wolf’s chest to below his muzzle. He pulls a laborious breath and the small rattle of fluid in the lungs means the grey wolf is in poor shape. Peter. It smells like Peter.

 

Isaac sits back on his haunches. “What the hell is going on?”

 

He is small, just pup size with soft red fur covering the entirety of his wolf body. “No. No. No.” His tail tucks under him, his ears flatten, and he starts to shake. He can’t begin to remember how he came to be here or why the hell he looks and smells like a wolf. He takes a deep breath. ‘Why are there wolves here with the scents of Scott, Allison and Peter?’ He knows he is a werewolf, but his sensitive nose can’t pick up a trace of human on his body. He tries to shift back to his teenage human self, but there is no change to his puppy sized paws.

 

His confusion is forgotten as his ears prick and he picks out the sound of heavy panting. There is another animal pounding its way closer to the tree. His ability to hear further in this state is magnified over his beta form. He can sense the urgency and desperation in the animal’s gate. Whatever it is, the thing is running on four legs not bothering to hide itself from the surrounding forest. It’s a predator.

 

He settles back into the comfort of the other’s heat to wait for what the fates have in store. While unsure of the other wolves’ hostility, he assumes he is safe for now given the familiarity of their scents. He pushes away the nagging sour smell of rotten flesh he never found a source for and closes his eyes. His agitation forgotten as the small pup falls back to sleep hoping it is still a dream.

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Inside the Nemeton, early morning)

 

Stiles knows he is not dreaming this time when comes back to consciousness. There is a white bellied squirrel climbing his face. Its flat tail gives his face a couple slaps. He would scream in the upper aria if he had enough space to fill his lungs, but his body stuck motionless. The teenager feels like Hans Solo trapped in carbonite, only he is stuck in a composite of cellulose (wood); the Nemeton, actually. He knows this because he can feel the band across his heart chuckle in flashes of warm colors at the same time the pressure around him vibrates funny. Well he assumes the tree is laughing. He is just learning how to interpret the colorful mind speak.

 

While he was placed in the spell induced sleep, he kept getting flashes of thoughts in color. Sometimes the thoughts render the scene in such a way he can make out objects or landscapes. Other times he just gets a feeling displayed in a solid color. Apparently the tree has a lot to say;  the rave of colors never stills. If he was pre-werewolf Erica, the imagery would have induced some serious seizures. His body is already reeling from the airborne crash that landed him in this mess, now the rainbow bright pageant in his head has him needing to puke rainbows. A soft glow aims to comfort Stiles, but he really needs the darkness back.

 

The squirrel starts chattering loudly. “Shut up. Shut up, Nut Head. My aching head,” he cries and flinches as a spongy mushroom bonks across his nose. He can not see the rodent, but he hopes his evil stink eye intimidates the beast.

 

A flash of freakish large eyes causes Stiles to eep. “You are a very rude human child.” An ethereal voice squeaks through the small vocal chords of the creature. A weight lands on his head and winged arms scramble and claw at his eyebrows to position the small body right in front of his face. Its hind paws stand on his cheekbones as it straddles his nose, a tail hangs over his lips.

 

“God the smell,” he can’t breath through the heavy musk and fur shoved in his airways. He spits out the fur clogging his mouth, “Nut Head is talking.”

 

The nocturnal eyes squint at the mess of saliva in her tail. “Rude. Flower boy, if you must address me its Goddess or Mother.” She busily grooms through her tail, hindlegs still clinging to his face.

 

A flash of red hits Stiles mind from the Nemeton. He interprets the tree speech as ‘no one talks to mama that way.’ Cringing again from the head pain, he promises he won’t be making fun of any one’s mother if it will spare him the squeaky noise and dance lights. “I’m sorry great goddess mother of squirrels, but your heavenly voice is tearing my head in half.” Stiles spits out more fur.

 

The squirrel gives a huff of annoyance. The small flying squirrel's nose twitches, whiskers poking him in the eyes, as her eyes begin to glow green. Her small nose touches to Stiles’ forehead and all his pain melts away. All his injuries are healed.

 

He gives a content sigh and his body relaxes back into the tree. “Thank you, Goddess Nut Head.”

 

She gouges out little claw marks, freeing fresh blood, as her fierce will grows. “Listen to me moon flower. I’ll excuse your attitude, as I am sure your puny self is a little agitated given the circumstances, but fail to address me properly again little Spark and I will emasculate you.” The squirrel's hackles tremble in her furry.

 

“Yes m’am, Goddess, mommy, please leave my nuts alone,” Stiles whines out in fear at a pint size being. He will never feel safe around a squirrel again.

 

“Glad we have an understanding, though that would unnecessarily complicate things.” She looks down to Stiles crotch. Stiles just wishes she would stop thinking about nuts, his nuts. Squirrels and nuts are scary.

 

“As you know the druid has invoked the ancient ceremony of birthing a Flower Maiden and his chosen has passed my test. Virgin and future mate to my chosen, you are a fine vessel. The lunar flower seed grows inside you allowing you to commune with my children. Together you and the wolf will open Paradise.” She frowns slightly as she sees the boys mind is stuck thinking about nuts.

 

“Flower Maiden!” Stiles jumps and blinks tickling the creature with his eyelashes. She squirms and retaliates by biting him on the nose.

 

“Oww! Bitch,” he screams and fearfully adds, “Mother, please I like my nuts, don’t crack them open… Oh god-dess. I am so sorry. I heard you, but I don’t understand.” Stiles is shaking and cursing at his lack of brain to mouth filter. He really needs to clean up his language in front of a deity even if it is a squirrel.

 

“You think I’m a squirrel, human?” She laughs away her anger. “Funny one you are. Times have changed and the old ways forgotten. I suppose you can be forgiven for your trespass.” She pauses and speaks briefly to the tree. She frowns as time passes and Stiles is left clueless. ”The tree speaks that you had no rights in the ritual and are unaware of the circumstances. You being a surrogate sacrifice to the old tree, is one reason you were chosen. The other, you are unaware. You are the chosen wolf’s mate, so your role of flower maiden is a given.”

 

“Wait, what mate? You mean werewolf or wolf-wolf because I don’t know any wolf-wolves.” Stiles feels like an idiot and judging by the Goddess look, she thinks him one too.

 

“You know of the pull in your chest, the Nemeton speaks of the cord that links you to your mate. Your own tie to the tree and the seed that makes you a lunar flower allows you to speak with trees. Nemeton knows of another spirit tied to your core. Ask the tree of this bond,” The Goddess replies.

 

“Um, okay.” Stiles tries to visualize the cord in his chest that makes Stiles feel whole, love, and comfort. It’s thin and strung tight, but he feels its counter moving closer to him. A soft glow of gold light pushes at his mind’s eye. The tree then flashes the image of a scruffy sourwolf in his mind.

 

“Derek, you gotta be kidding me.” Stiles exclaims loudly in a lie. ‘Wow ok, so he and I have gotten closer in the last few months trying not to die, but there was that whole Ms. Blake thing. Is Derek even gay? I mean I really like him. If we are mates and Derek knows why would he leave me? Is he even attracted to me? I mean he is hot and I’m… Holy shit, was he cheating on me with Ms. Blake?” Stiles mind is revving up to chaos level flying off any tangent to escape actually thinking of Derek as a mate.

 

“Whoa there kid. Freak out about your personal problems on your own time. We got stuff to cover,” the Goddess says.

 

‘Ms. Sassy Squirrel Pants has something more important than my epic man feelings going down, please bitch.’ Stiles thinks and immediately regrets the thought. He has forgotten her magic mind reading ability.

 

The Goddess doesn’t even need to move the Nemeton shifts below and bark rakes across his private zone in punishment for thinking of the Goddess so rudely.

 

“Ow. Ow. Owwy! God! No. Bad touch, tree! I will not be molested by a tree. Bad Nemy.” Stiles punctuates by sending a vision of a chainsaw revving up to cut, following with the tree on fire to the Nemeton

 

The Goddess sighs and shakes her tiny head. “Alright enough,” She squeaks interrupting Stiles and Nemeton’s paint ball war of colorful insults. “Let me explain briefly, I am the Goddess or Great Mother, I am the ancient spirit of Earth,” She speaks as Stiles gapes at the cute chubby cheeks of the squirrel.

 

“Idiot. I appear before you in this form so that you don’t go crazy in my presence. My true form is beyond the mind of man.” She intones.

 

‘Too late for the crazy part.’ Stile thinks even though the Goddess can hear his thought.

 

She just tilts her head and continues, “So the Druid, in an attempt to balance the darach’s and another’s actions, has been forced to invoke the ceremony. A ritual that gives a chosen maiden a seed of the lunar flower, thus turning her or him,” she cruelly chuckles, “into the key to open Paradise. Without consent of the maiden, the ritual will demand a sacrifice.” The Goddess’ eyes lighten until they appear cloudy. “I see the loss has already been paid. You will be leaving here soon with your wolf, child.”

 

“What are you talking about? Why are you calling me a flower maiden? I am not a girl. What druid are you talking about? This seed is growing in me? Is that what he put in my mouth? Am I a plant or this a symbiotic relationship? Paradise as in the Bahamas or something, because I would really like to leave this tree like now.” Stiles is tired of riddles. The story the Nemeton was speaking of earlier makes no sense. The talking squirrel makes no sense. His life makes no sense.

 

“Relax child.” The Goddess speaks.

 

The soft lull of greens like a tree canopy shifting in the afternoon light shimmers in his mind. ‘Great the freakin’ tree that ate me and bad touches me, even feels sorry for me,’ Stiles thinks.

 

“You brat are going to see something, while we have the time.” Her eyes turn cloudy again and the Great Mother presses her paw to the boy’s forehead.

 

His mind goes passive to the Goddess’ will and he can feel his body walking before he can see again. Once he is out of the cave all is blank. The brightness burns his eyes, until he recovers then stiles realizes that its snowing. He follows the tiny animal as it glides and lands at the base of a tree. It’s actually a fossilized tree. He reaches out to touch the petrified wood rubbing the snow off the smooth surface until he realizes he is tracing over a face. He jumps back in surprise. Withered humanoids in various stages of decay form the entirety of the tree.

 

“No more creepy trees, please,” he begs the Goddess.

 

She glides over to his shoulder. Unfortunately, Stiles knows the torment of what her claws can do to his naked skin, so when no pain comes he looks over in confusion. Stiles sees he in no longer naked as he was during the ritual. He is wearing a skin tight suit that is light blue with gold trimming. The one piece has diamond windows with bare skin showing around his body. He flushes red at the ridiculous costume. He’d rather be naked then sporting this dandy.

 

All embarrassment is forgotten, when his hand flies to his neck. The metal necklace the druid placed is still there. He yanks it slightly, only thinking of his absolute fear the moment it adorned him. The Goddess gives a soft coo sound at his side calming his body’s trembling at the memory.

 

He gathers himself and ponders why he is here at the foot of another terrifying tree. Well now that Nemy’s been purified it’s just annoying. Nemy did grope him, so he’s on the fence about its terror level. On the plus Stiles can speak to trees, so he guesses trees won’t be so scary if he can understand them.  He wants to be scared of a tree made of bodies, but he feels only what he has come to feel standing at the foot of his mother’s grave, loss and reverence. His body hums silently as he takes in their morbid tomb.

 

“Yes Flower Maiden, these are all the other lunar flowers chosen by the ritual that have withered and died before the gates of paradise could open,” She squeaks from her perch on his shoulder.

 

Solemn silence, then Stiles opens his mouth. “Oh my god, are you nuts how is this supposed to help? I am going to die and become Stiles the creepy weeping willow.”

 

Frustration reaching its height at dealing with the snarky teen, the Goddess laughs cruelly in his face. “Perhaps I should just take your balls now, save us all the anticipation and toss you up on that pile. Your lanky withered body would make a fine bough.” She sizes him up and looks to a bare spot on the tree.

 

“Why are you obsessed with my balls? Well I know why you’re crazy for nuts taking the form of a squirrel, but you’re not telling me something.”

 

If possible her grin gets wider.

 

‘That look on a rodent is just wrong,’ Stiles moves his head away from his own shoulder in fear of her.

 

“Dear child, so innocent, only the one who understands you the most can save you this fate. Only you and your precious can find the path to Paradise or a frigid hell awaits all the Earth. Be brave, protect the wolves and let the wolves protect you. Let the path lead to fruitful seed.” The Goddess grows and grows, until his shoulder sags and he hits the ground hard under pressure of her weight. It is dark under the creature, no longer that of the rodent, but something else. Before he can look, the world snaps and Stiles is falling.

 

“I think I just was sat on by an angry mother.” Stiles moans as he lies spread eagle at the base of the Nemeton.

 

“What are you talking about Stiles?” A giant white wolf says from above him with a very familiar voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the information about the government’s response comes from the FEMA and Dept. of Homeland Security websites. Emergency management is an interesting aspect of a disaster; unfortunately I have had personal experience with, not because of damage or loss of life, but my community has wildfires yearly and we just had flooding in September (cookies for people who know the area). Watching the twenty four hour news streams covering these disasters is really unhealthy. Sure being up to date is critical, but listening to the hype will drive you nuts and it's extra stress you don’t need. Evacuate, donate or volunteer, but if you ever find yourself in a natural disaster try to keep calm and don’t hyper sensitize yourself to that crap.
> 
> Police scanner lingo comes from wiki codes page.
> 
> On the other hand it was really fun to make that million dollar picture montage of the bruised Sheriff (sorry Sheriff!) and what I imagine the sinkhole and post-earthquake disaster to look like.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Chapter: Kidnapping, Assault, Violence, Bitchy Lydia

 

“God damn kids,” Chris Argent growls, deep enough to make any werewolf proud. The very last quarter teaspoon of the ground coffee wafts away into the empty filter, filling the air with its tantalizing smell, but he won't be getting any java to drink from this bag. His aching head and hangover demands coffee, so it looks like he’ll have to go to go out.

 

Last nights dinner was a trial, well torture for him and a head session for Allison. With two boys very much smitten with his daughter in attendance, he was expecting to be entertained by the angst and competition. He was looking forward to scowling like a disapproving father and watching the boys squirm. His foul mood had nothing to do with the young men; he has grown to like Isaac and Scott. It was the boy’s father who had wasted most of his afternoon, that he felt the itch to torture his dinner guests. Instead he was the hapless victim.

 

He was nauseous half way through the pot roast meal, when the trio began to speak about their feelings in a very loquacious way. Complete with dialogue straight off of some daytime psychiatrist’s show. Seriously, he felt like he was sitting back in couple’s therapy revealing it all to a stranger about his and Victoria’s failing marriage.

 

Which of course, led him to throwing back a few stiff drinks too many. By the time they actually got dessert on the dining room table, the man was sloshed and reminiscing about the better times with Victoria. He missed her. That must have been awkward enough for the boys, but Allison looked happy to hear the stories. Rather than being upset at the mention of her mother, for the first time since Victoria’s death, Allison seemed to accept things as they were.

 

Of course this fueled Allison’s own desire to hash out her feelings for both boys, so the kids excused themselves to the den to continue their conversation in private. They really were just talking when he came to check on any illicit behavior crossbow in hand. They were all spread out in various chairs holding a respectful conversation, ignoring the movie on mute in the background and drinking his coffee. He disappointedly dropped the crossbow and went to bed. They kept at it, he could hear them speaking across the small condo. He didn’t even care his daughter and the boys snuck out predawn hours, he was just happy for the peace and quiet.

 

Now he is exiting his vehicle at the Trader Joe’s market. The pre-caffeinated haze keeps a sour scowl on his face as he walks through the parking lot to the market. There is some kind of buzz in the air and everyone is sporting a lost look on their face. He is too tired to deal with whatever is going on and solely focuses on his caffeine mission.

 

A teacher yells across the lot at Argent, to remind him that he needs to clear some unexcused absences up with the school before Allison loses credit in his class. Thankfully most teachers understand about Allison’s loss of her mother, but some teachers ride her harder on account her family ties. Citing the stringent work ethic her grandfather as Principal demanded of the staff, a good enough excuse to expect the same of Allison. While the rest of her class lazed through the work, Allison’s papers were given far more scrutiny. The same paper Scott got a lower A grade, Allison was given a C, even though her paper showed a greater depth and more concise arguments. She clearly excelled on the paper, but was given an unfair grade. Thankfully, Finstock isn’t that type of teacher and treats Allison like any other student with absences.

 

He needs to deal with the problem as diplomatically as possible. His own name is just as tarnished by his family. Fresh juicy gossip of the handsome man’s pick up yesterday, in this very same lot, is being whispered as he passes other shoppers. People are starting to think him the same sort of low life as his murdering sister. The Argent name is as good as dirt in this small community except to a select few.

 

With too much on his hungover mind and lacking his morning Joe, Chris Argent’s hunter awareness is not functioning. He is oblivious to the gray van pulling up right behind him; he doesn’t process the sound of the sliding door rolling back, until he is thrown hard to the ground on his stomach. A large hand catches and pins his wrist as he reaches for his hidden weapon. He rocks his weight back trying to catch the man in the nose or to unbalance the man, but his attacker expertly dodges and takes advantage of Chris’ exposed side with a hard punch. The hit subdues Chris long enough, so that the man can bring a knee up to his back as he draws a weapon. His attacker gets some distance between their bodies and Chris moves to roll away from whatever shot the man intends. Before Chris can swipe a kick at his attacker’s legs, he feels a blunt object ram down onto his chest. His body arch upwards violently. Excruciating pain zaps through his body from every pulse the drive stun taser delivers.

 

“Fuh,“ Chris slurs through the pain and drool.

 

Five seconds is all it takes for the masked man to move the helpless victim into the van. It takes Chris a second to recognize the swinging object is a standard issue Glock 22, before it smashes into his forehead and all is dark.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, morning after earthquake)

 

“Someone with a heartbeat is in there,” Aiden says as he, Ethan, and Lydia stand outside the back entrance to Deaton’s clinic.

 

“Then let’s get to it.” Ethan growls.

 

Lydia had roused a very sleepy Aiden off the couch by ripping the blanket from under him spilling him onto the hardwood floor. Her sadism poorly hidden by her concern to search for answers to last night’s disturbances. None of her friends answered her calls and she was not in the mood to deal kindly with his sleep addled brain to wake up gently. They were getting answers and getting them now. By ‘now’ she had meant after taking her shower and styling for over an hour.

 

Aiden decided his misery needed company, so he called his brother to get out of his boyfriend’s bed to join their merry crusade. Someone is not a morning person or most likely Aiden’s call had interrupted the lovers’ morning exercise. A very miffed Danny, judging by the expletives in the background did not help the twins’ sour mood. 

 

Aiden is just glad to be out and far from the Martin house. Lydia’s mother had offered to wear an apron naked for him, if he would stay for breakfast. This was while Lydia showered and her husband took a business call in his study. He abruptly refused her and sat in the car to wait for Lydia to look perfect for whatever rescue mission today brought. If it were not for the fact both he and his brother owe the druid their lives, he would have found some quiet hideaway to go back to sleep.

 

After a little breaking and entering, damaging the clinic’s steel service door in the process, the twins enter to investigate. Lydia smartly waits outside. While the heavy door with double locks is enough to keep the average burglar out, the absence of Deaton’s usual wards is concerning. The twins cross freely into the darkened space. Other than the pounds of dog food spilled on the tile floor there is little damage to the clinic from the earthquake. They follow the heartbeat to the corner prep area cautiously.

 

Aidan and Ethan stand over a circle looking down at the sleeping druid in surprise. Expecting Deaton, but instead they find his sister. They watch the Emissary they had tried to kill a couple days ago sleep curled around a bucket filled with fresh water and an apple core encircled by a protective boundary of pure ash.

 

Lydia’s heels clap loudly over the tiled floor waking the sleeping druid. Morrell startles awake and flings the bucket in defence, when she sees the werewolves looming over her. Aiden ducks the bucket, but slips in the dog food crashing to the floor. The water soaks into his clothes permeating the stench of wet kibble. He’s a mess. His brother chuckles at his bad fortune.

 

Climbing slowly to his feet, he growls at Deucalion’s Emissary. He is sick of women. He doesn’t know if it is all suburbs or this town that is ruining him. Every time he looks over at Lydia this morning he sees her creepy mom. Jennifer Blake was truly frightening and now another druid who looked helpless stuck in a magical boundary has him crawling on the floor like a dog. His body has recovered from being tazed, twice, but his pride is in pieces.

 

“Good you guys can eat breakfast, I’ll talk to Morrell,” Lydia breathily rasps out the words through her strained voice, while pointing at the dog food littering the ground. Both Aidan and Ethan snarl this time, but step away from the startled druid and bitchy princess.

 

Lydia reaches over the pure ash to give Morrell a hand up. The druid gasps in surprise, thinking the barrier’s repulsion should work against all magic users and beings. Apparently not Lydia, her unique ability neutralizes the magic properties. Morrell gratefully steps out of the circle she spent the last twelve hours in.

 

“Just a minute,” the druid excuses herself from the group to use the restroom. She is not sure how she could manage to get even more pissed at Deaton, but if there had been any accidents while trapped in the circle, she would definitely try. Thankfully that issue is resolved and just in time and she returns to the group.

 

“Thank you.” She warily watches the brothers, but they seem more hostile toward the red head not her.

 

Lydia hands a phone over to Morrell and she reads what has been written.

 

‘I lost my voice. I need to find Deaton. Where is he? Why r u in a circle?’

 

She thinks about how to begin. Lydia likely felt the earthquake and the subsequent death with her banshee nature. “Why are you here?”

 

She hands the phone back so Lydia can type a reply. Lydia message reads, ‘Why are _you_ here?’

 

Ethan steps forward and snatches the phone from Morrell, ignoring Lydia’s huff. “Hurry it up, I have work soon.”

 

“Look, Lydia woke up screaming last night about Stiles and some tree and sent her friends out to investigate. Then there was an unnatural earthquake and she was screaming because people died. She passed out finally after screaming a third time. She kept gasping out about a mother, moon, flowers or some crap about nuts. I know it’s not Lydia’s mother because the cougar was right next to her,” Aiden adds snipily looking at Lydia like she’s a nutter.

 

Lydia gives him a scowl, but with his sleepless night he could care less. He had left Lydia clinging to her mother after being tased to sleep off his anger and embarrassment on the couch. He was not sharing a bed, defenseless in sleep, with that woman. So when Lydia chimed in on another supernatural event, he was not there to comfort the girl. Now Lydia is being a bitch and treating Aiden like a dog.

 

“Hey!” Lydia garbles out and punches a right hooks Aiden’s stomach. Aiden doesn’t acknowledge the decent punch, Lydia just shakes out her sore knuckles and pulls out her phone. ‘Asshole, don’t talk about my mother that way,’ she types. Aiden doesn’t even bother to read her message. It’s clear by the red in her cheeks and her mascara caked eyes squinting she is smoking angry.

 

‘God the smell of fury on Lydia’s is hot.’ Aiden’s horny dick can’t seem to agree with his brain and they lock into a heated debate over his feelings for the strawberry blonde.

 

“Now she can’t reach the McCall pack or apparently Deaton,” Ethan finishes as he eyes his brother and his brother’s girlfriend. He wishes he could block all the pheromones he can smell from the two. Gross makeup sex is on the horizon. He does not want the image of his brother’s hetrosexual life in his mind.

 

Ms. Morrell looks over in astonishment at Lydia. Considering that Lydia’s most violent screaming was in reaction to seeing the Goddess, but she still has the ability to speak means the goddess’ blessing is upon this girl. All who gaze on Her true form must pay a toll, but Lydia has seen the Goddess in a vision and remains healthy. Her voice will recover. She was also able to discern the images in the vision to recognize people. The girl has so much potential, perhaps Braeden’s place as an apprentice will not go empty long.

 

Before Morrell can answer, both boys turn to the device in Lydia’s hand as it starts to ring. Lydia looks to the phone and sees an unknown number. She aims to tap the ignore call icon, but Ms. Morrell grabs the phone from the girl.

 

Ms. Morrell’s voice seems calm as she answers Lydia’s cell phone, “Sheriff.”

 

Lydia adds clairvoyance to Ms. Morrell’s growing list of talents. She screens all her calls. After all the psychopaths and sociopaths in her life this last year, it just seemed safer. She resigns herself to listening because there is no way she can carry on a conversation, let alone admit to the Sheriff that her seer abilities have only bad news.

 

“No this is Ms. Morrell, the guidance councilor. Yes, it is early for a session. Oh so you know about that, then yes I am a druid, not an Emissary anymore.” There is a pause, “Yes, I know he is dead, Gerard Argent killed him.”

 

Surprise flashes across the twins’ faces and Lydia’s looks lost. Apparently the twins did not know of the man’s demise at the hands of the old hunter. They assume Gerard’s motive to kill Deucalion is limited to that of a hunter and werewolf. Morrell always suspected Deucalion never shared anything relevant with the twins and he would never share anything like _The Book of Moon_ with the other alphas in his pack. Consequently Deucalion's lack of trust in his pack is why it was so easy for the boys to betray the pack.

 

“Sir, the Martin girl is fine. She lost her voice and cannot answer herself; if you want you may speak with her boyfriend. He and his brother are here as well. Fine, no I have not heard from Stiles. I don’t know why Deaton’s not answering at the clinic.”

 

Lydia has had enough of being the only one in room not privy to both sides of the phone conversation. She grabs the phone to put it into speaker mode.

 

“She’s lying,” a female voice comes from the Sheriff’s end.

 

“Cora?” Lydia reacts in surprise speaking louder than she meant and grasps her throat to soothe the pain.

 

Morrell breathes “Shit,” under her voice only the werewolves can hear, including Cora.

 

“What the hell do you know Morrell?” The uncharacteristically caustic Sheriff yells. Then the occupants in the clinic hear a muffled conversation and then josseling as the phone is placed against the Sheriff’s ear.

 

“Cora says you’re not lying about Stiles, but you know why Deaton’s not at the clinic? You know this because?” He asks in Sheriff Mode.

 

“I am at the clinic and he is not here.” Ms. Morrell dodges the question. This conversation is no longer easy with a human lie detector on the Sheriff’s side. She may have been able to dance around Lydia with the twins, but now that a third party has an advantage, she does not know how she can avoid telling the man his son is missing and likely dead or possibly a flower maiden because of her brother. Not a conversation she wants to have with anyone.

 

“Fine. Please ask Ms. Martin if she has heard from or seen Stiles,” the Sheriff's voice sounds desperate. Lydia has never heard him so upset.

 

Gathering up her will to speak through the pain she breathily says, “I have not seen Stiles,”

 

“She’s lying,” chimes in Cora.

 

“Ms. Martin, you will tell me now!” The Sheriff demands, just as his radio blurts out, “Beacon Hills cars, Code 2, a 207 in progress, Trader Joe’s NW parking lot.” Followed promptly by the officers responding, ”23, check.” “9, check.”

 

Silence falls over the phone line, while the radio continues to crackle out response to the emergency. All parties are in a standoff over their reluctance to share. Ethan steps forward as a peacemaker, but really it’s his impatience. He found work with a road contractor a couple days ago. Since he and his brother left the pack, he needed money to live. Unlike his brother, he can’t live off a rich girlfriend or boyfriend in his case. The crew has been called in for emergency road repair and debris removal in an attempt to clear the interstate and he needs this drama to wrap up.

 

“Lydia is only partly lying. She saw Stiles, but in a vision last night. Ah, I guess the quickest way to describe Lydia’s gift is she sees people dying or already dead and she screams. That’s why she can’t talk; she was up all night screaming and not in the good way.” He pauses at the hitch in breath on the other side of the line; clearly the joke didn’t lessen the blow. He looks to see both his brother and Morrell slap their hands to their foreheads in comissory for the stupid comment. Lydia sports the same bitchy look from earlier.

 

“Er… well, it’s not like Stiles was dead yet.” He tries to amend his explanation, but fails. “She sent Scott, Isaac and Allison out after him. We haven’t heard anything else from anyone. We came here to speak with Deaton, but the man is nowhere and his sister was here.”

 

“What did you see Lydia?” The Sheriff doesn’t even question Lydia’s ability; he is so desperate for news.

 

“She saw him being eaten by a tree.” Ms. Morrell answers for her. Lydia looks surprised and the twins turn in sequence to the druid in mistrust.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” The Sheriff screams. “You all better start making sense or will throw all your asses in a cell. Don’t think I haven’t learned a thing or two from Argent about how to keep a werewolf passive.” The echo of growls grow louder in the sterile examination room from the werewolves at the Sheriff’s threat

 

“It was the Nemeton in Lydia’s vision. Stiles’ surrogate sacrifice to the tree is the only explanation. It could just be an omen not the actual event of Stiles being swallowed by a tree. Seer abilities are often not so literal.” Ms. Morrell adds enough truth to cover her lie. Judging by the expressions on the others’ faces, she has placated them enough. “We find the tree, we may have a better idea of trouble Stiles and his missing friends are in,” Morrell explains. “No one here knows its location. Scott, Allison, and Isaac are unreachable. Chris hasn’t returned Lydia’s call. Only you and Melissa McCall know the location.” She doesn’t add Peter or Deaton to the list. “Wait, Cora where is Derek? Let me talk to him.”

 

Cora is reluctant to reply and stays silent. So the Sheriff blurts out, “He’s gone. He ran off after the car wreck in the earthquake.” The father wants answers. Answers his intuition, strong and fine tuned from the years of job experience tells him Ms. Morrell knows more than she is letting on. Something suspicious went down at the clinic with Deaton missing and half the Scooby Doo gang gathered. Cora said something about the unnatural source of this disaster; he knows the druid has more of a clue than anyone. He is having no more of this card game, even if throwing all their cards on the table leads to debt. He will do anything to get his boy back. “Besides he couldn’t talk to you anyway, he apparently is a huge wolf. He freed himself from the sinkhole and took off in that damn tree’s direction.”

 

“A wolf? Good.” Morrell adds. Deaton’s ritual must have worked if Derek recovered his hidden form.

 

“Good, what the hell good about this situation?” The Sheriff snips. At same time Cora questions, “What the hell do you know about it?”

 

“What’s the big deal? It’s their thing right? Deucalion told us the Hales have transformed to wolves before, Talia Hale could do it.” Ethan says.

 

Lydia just thinks back to her third vision, when she watched a goddess toss a boy in a moon colored skin suit out of a blizzard and onto the front paws of a white wolf. “The goddess and a white wolf, Derek?” she ponders aloud through a breathy voice, no one has to strain to hear. “Then the boy with purple hair is Stiles?”

 

“Purple hair?” Aiden asks. “I want to go back to bed, if this is all about Stiles’ new fashion choice. Besides it sounds like Derek is already taking care of things.”

 

Lydia doesn’t bother to punch him. Ethan does it for him, “That’s for getting me out of bed for this crap.” He walks out the door hanging from its deadbolts and slams it shut. A new distressed crease in the middle of the door looks almost purposeful on the newly useless door.

 

“It’s about time this place went from shabby to shabby chic.” Lydia taps out on her phone studying the surprisingly vogue appearance the tortured door. “Now if Deaton does something about the smell and pet stains,” She adds and hands it to her boyfriend to read.

 

“Oh so you can joke, but I get punched. This is your fault.” Aiden sneers at Lydia, as he rubs his arm from his brother’s punch. The guy held nothing back. He must be angry.  

 

“I need you to come to the clinic and show me where the Nemeton is; otherwise we will have to wait for Chris or Melissa to answer.” Morrell turns away from the children.

 

“I am clear the way in Grian Lake on emergency call, I won’t be there for another four hours at best with travel time and there’s a freaking press conference at one on the disaster response I am required to be there. Please help me out; I will be there as soon as I can.” Sheriff begs.

 

“OK, I guess we’ll have to wait for Chris Argent’s call, Melissa’s not home,” Morrell says.

 

“She’s on duty at the triage tent in the makeshift hospital in the Grian Lake Middle/High School. There is no cell service, she probably can’t get away either.”

 

“Possibly, Cora can track Derek to the Nemeton? It’s a risk to send someone alone into unknown danger, but time is of the essence.” Morrell says.

 

“His scent is different and he has a good start, but I’ll try.” Cora assures the Sheriff.

 

“OK. We will wait here. We’ll call to let you know if Chris checks in then we will be on the way. Be careful.” Ms. Morrell says, “Call me when you have news Sheriff.” Morrell drops the call.

 

Aiden and Lydia are standing over the counter studying the potion ingredients when she turns back to the two. Aiden is honing in on one clear vial Deaton used to cover a dagger. Deaton simply crushed the green fluid from a seed she had never seen before, decanted the solids, and placed the substance into a vial. He wasn’t forthcoming with the answer when she questioned the nature of the liquid. This struck her as odd, but she continued with her own work.

 

“Don’t touch that it’s likely poison.” Morrell warns.

 

His expression matches the exact one Scott and Isaac carried yesterday when Deaton explained about _The Book of Moon_. His face quickly tightens into one of alarm at her warning. “It smells so good,” Aiden sighs in disappointment and watches the viscous green mixture coat the vile in the morning light.

 

‘Ah so it’s something to do with lunar flowers.’ Deaton never said what it was, but that the poison would incapacitate all, but one. She takes the vial from Aiden’s reluctant hand and places it safely on the counter.

 

Lydia squints at the vial and then loses interest to observe the scene. ‘There seems to be a lot of herbs and ingredients out,’ She thinks as she ponders why Deaton has been so careless to leave evidence of his druid magic out, to expose himself as anything more than a veterinarian. ‘Like he was preparing something quickly, with no care to clean it up,’ she thinks.

 

She types in her phone, ‘Tell me where is Deaton and why would he leave you behind? You look like you spent the night in the circle.’ She hands the phone to the druid and waits for her to finish reading. She types more when she gets no answer. She points to the spilled bucket and apple core on floor amid the kibble and ash debris, and then hands the phone to Morrell.

 

Morrell looks at the message that reads, ‘Deaton left you behind and took measures you would not follow, hence in a barrier; though, not on bad terms given your provisions. Likely you helped him prepare these ingredients, given the awkward location of the circle, but you were caught unaware of his plan to leave you. He did so to protect you from something. What were you helping him with?’

 

Morrell is staring hard at the phone and continues her silence, knowing she can not deny the comments in front of the werewolf. She looks over to Aiden nervously, whose attention is still absorbed by the vial sitting on the counter and clueless to the silent conversation. Maybe this is an opportunity to get Lydia to trust her. She has plans for the girl and thinks that her training was one of the ways Deaton told her to look after the children. Yes she can work with this brilliant girl, but the alpha she’s screwing is another thing. She wants nothing to do with a soul that would blindly follow a man and commit his atrocities without a question. Deucalion was right; tools only need to be physically sharp. Especially before said tool can get any of his own ideas about a Paradise. That would be another wolf to fight to protect Stiles and Derek.

 

She decides to type out a message for Lydia to get rid of the meatsack and meet her later to discuss the events and reasons behind the earthquake, so she can reveal the whole truth.

 

Lydia’s patience expires with the woman as she reads what she thinks is another side step to avoid the truth. She tells the druid something she has been holding back on. To make her speak or hurt her, Lydia isn’t certain which one, but if it works Lydia will count it as a win. She speaks softly and it sounds cruel in her raspy voice, “Tell me why I saw Deaton in one of my visions? Why would he be dying?”

 

“You saw Deaton?” She isn’t aware of the tear falling down her cheek.

 

...

 

Sheriff Stilinski skids across the pavement around the side of the SUV holding a standard black pack. He looks around cautiously for onlookers, but all the personnel are too absorbed in their work to question the man’s actions. He drops the pack to the bumper and opens the bag. Puts a couple bottles of water in, adds a black fleece jacket to the standard search and rescue provisions and zips it shut.

 

He holds up a topo map and draws a circle in black ink. “I am a little foggy on the exact location it was dark when we left the cellar, but the tree is somewhere off of Fox Creek tributary. We hiked a good three hours out, maybe four miles. It’s moderate terrain, but it was dark and our injuries made it a slow go. Maroon Gulch trailhead is where Peter brought the landrover to pick us up. If you go past the north boundary to the forest land then you’ve gone too far. The Nemeton is closer to us here than Beacon Hills.” Sheriff turns back to the SUV, stuffs the map in the pack pocket and riffles through the SUV gear case. He straightens back up holding a small black device and hands it to her.

 

“Take the personal beacon just in case. I am not sure if you can get cell reception. Stiles got cell service in the cellar, but that was before the quake took out the cell towers in the vicinity. The transmitter has a messaging function, so let me know when you get there. If it’s safe, please stay there with my boy and I’ll get word to Morrell. If it’s not, we’ll figure it out.” He says as he programs his satellite and cellular numbers into the PLB, as well as ones for Scott, Chris, and Lydia’s in case he can’t be reached. “Where’s your cell?”

 

She holds out the device, which is blank when she taps it. She tries to power it on, but nothing happens. “My cell battery must have drained looking for service, while I was unconscious. Plus, I think it hit the dash in the crash. It may be broken.” It looks undamaged, but it’s worthless to them.

 

“I’ll hold on to your phone and get someone to find a charger and make sure Derek hasn’t tried to contact you, OK?” Sheriff takes the phone when she nods and tucks it away.

 

“Alright, use this to message me. But don’t press the SOS unless you absolutely have to and only in the event of a major medical. It signals on a military frequency, so if you activate the SOS, you are not just contacting me, you contact every emergency outfit and anyone with the equipment. You don’t want an unfriendly picking up your distress signal.” He unzips the front pocket of the pack and tosses it in. He holds the whole pack up for her to slip into. She buckles the chest strap and fiddles with the fit, only to have something to do. They stand in silence as the emergency lights flicker all around them. The intensity of color piercing through the grit of grays composing the dismal landscape.

 

“Thank you Cora.” Stilinski stiffly hugs the young woman. She gathers the man into a gentle hug of encouragement feeling his frazzled nerves easing into determination. Now they have a plan, not much of one, but enough to get them through the next few hours.

 

“Take care of my boy.” He speaks softly as he lets her go.

 

His radio com loudly crackles through the quiet moment. “All units, information broadcast for 207 and 10851... Be advised GOA, Reporting person one Bobby Finstock positive id VIC as Chris Argent. BOLO for S/V Adam Lincoln Nora three oh three, gray van, over.” [All units, information broadcast for a kidnapping and stolen vehicle. Be advised kidnapper gone on police arrival. Reporting person Bobby Finstock identified victim as Chris Argent. Be on the lookout for suspect vehicle with plates A-L-N-3-0-3 gray van.”

 

When the Sheriff looks up Cora Hale is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah a little random with the Alt-J picture, but I actually made all the artwork before I wrote most of the story. It helps me plan the story from the ideas I get in the hours it takes to paint those things. Crazy, I thought photo touch up was time consuming….. growl, but it is fun.
> 
> Wolves and Stiles in next chapter!
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments! Happy Holidays to everyone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and pack reunite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: Violence, graphic description of an injury and poisoning, Major Character Death, Some light sexual petting,
> 
> Thank you guys for your comments! It makes me happy to see that people are enjoying this story, I really enjoyed writing it. Sorry my writing style gets a bit long...
> 
> Please let me know if I can improve certain parts or if you get confused, there are a lot of things to keep track of.

(Scott as a wolf)

 

By AzulMountain

Chapter 6

(Nemeton, morning after earthquake)

Scott wakes up to a puppy nibbling at his throat, whining and scratching at his face as the fur ball crawls all over Scott’s face. “Get off!” His head is aching and the sharp puppy teeth hurt. The image of a small mastiff flashes through his mind from yesterday’s picture mail from Isaac. Isaac has wanted one for the pack. For a moment his rattled brain thinks they went ahead and got a puppy, but when he squints through his eyelids he sees a very red wolf pup he startles. The pup smells like Isaac, not from the teenager handling the wolf, but the pup’s entire scent was Isaac’s. “What the hell?”

 

“That’s what I said.” Allison’s voice growls into Scott’s side. He lifts his head and rolls from his back onto his stomach. Stretching into downward dog he shakes out his coat, dislodging the rock that poked into his back all night. He hears it land a few feet away as his attention falls to the little pup settling between his paws licking at his chin. Scott focuses on his paws, ‘Paws.’ Isaac continues to submit under Scott, until Scott nuzzles his neck and licks the pup’s nose with his very wolf tongue. ‘The pup is Isaac and I have paws.’ He thinks repeating his observations as he takes in more of his wolfy features.

 

He turns to Allison in confusion and see’s a dark brown wolf with gold and mahogany highlights instead of a teenage girl. “What the hell? You’re a wolf, I’m a wolf.” Scott pleads for clarity to this strange situation.

 

“Again, exactly what I said.” Allison repeats. She shakes out her fur, another clunk as a rock lands away from the wolf. Her ears flatten and she licks at the alpha’s teeth in submission and greeting.

 

Scott is still not fully with it and only thinks Allison is kissing him. He rolls out his tongue and moves over to Allison as he licks all around her face. He moves to sniff her rear and twin growls grow from the pint sized wolf and pissed she-wolf who is just a confused by the conflicting wolf nature and human manners.

 

“Scott!” Allison scuttles her rear away from the interested male. ‘God the smell,’ Allison scents the musky scent of arousal and huffs to clear the smell from her fertile brain.

 

Isaac takes in the alpha’s smell and the mirrored reaction of his girlfriend and growls at the multicolored wolf. “Stay away from my girlfriend,” He cries as he pounces and snaps at the wolf’s paw.

 

“Uh sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Scott is embarrassed and sulks out of snapping range of the tiny red wolf chasing after his limbs.

 

Allison tilts her head at the pup. Her human brain remembers Isaac as tall and broad shouldered crush/boyfriend and importantly, human; her wolf mind sees no such thing. The scrawny pup is no way a potential mate; she looks longingly over to Scott. ‘Wow, slow down and think,’ she tries to reel in her lust as her tail thumps loudly against the tree roots.

 

Scott gulps and whines scenting the female’s heat, his wolf cock throbs itching to slip from his sheath. ‘Sheath-” and that does it, Scott’s human brain overrules his wolf nature. He is not comfortable with bestiality, even if she smells so good.

 

Isaac whines in terror at the thought he could lose Allison to Scott. His own desires are non-existent in his prepubescent wolf form; all he feels the need to do is play and eat. Even as he watches the mood grow into lust, all he wants is to get away from the volatile pair.

 

“No, no, no!” Isaac tries to shift into human form again. Nothing happens. “I can’t shift!” He cries again.

 

That seems to be enough to clear the mood, as both larger wolves look over to the pup in horror. Scott tries to shift to his human form. Nothing happens. “I can’t either. What the hell is going on?”

 

Allison, while unfamiliar with werewolf shifting is familiar with the mind shift to don her cold hunter self. She imagines herself as a happy teenager; she thinks of her person from only hours ago when Scott and Isaac revealed their support for the polyamorous relationship they all wanted. She opens her eyes to brown paws and finds she is not successful, so she tries harder. Nothing happens and her wolf face continues to grow more desperate and troubled. Frustration wins out and she flops to the floor and covers her paws over her eyes. “Oh my god, I’m stuck as a wolf! My father is going to shoot me!”

 

Chattering cackles above her head. Both Scott and Allison feel the sacrificial band across their hearts lighten in humor. Each look from the confusion spreading across the other’s wolf face to the tiny rodent making it’s way down the tree into the dark cellar.

 

Scott being more dignified and in control of his wolf nature merely pricks his ears at the furry ball. Allison and Isaac bark excitedly and scramble up the tree roots to chase the squirrel. Isaac tumbles into a root taking a hard knock to the head, before falling to the compact earth. Scott is right there to check the mischievous pup for injury. Allison continues her merry chase after the chattering creature weaving skillfully around the roots.

 

The noise seems to wake the last living occupant of the cellar out of sleep. A violent cough and retching sound accompanied by a splash of vomit, sours Allison’s jovial mood and she gives up the chase. Approaching cautiously she makes her way around the tree to the partially hidden wolf. Scott bumps up to her side and Isaac scuttles under her low to the ground in caution of the sick grey wolf.

 

The grey wolf’s eyebrows crease in confusion at the three wolves’ presence, until a sickly chuckle escapes his mouth. “You idiots fell on the crystals,” he laughs. He shifts slightly revealing a small cloudy crystal under his right left ear. Peter had already returned to his ancient wolf form when he struck the crystal, so instead of transforming like the others, the powerful object sustained his life over the hours, preventing his impending death from the poison on Deaton’s blade. When Isaac touched the crystal he transformed into an ancient wolf. Not all bit werewolves can assume the ancient creator’s blessing to become a wolf, but the Nemeton’s power seems to have brought out the potential in the werewolf. Allison Argent already had the blood of an ancient wolf, but likely she would never be able to assume the power without the crystal’s aid. And Scott, while a bitten werewolf, he is a true alpha; meaning he already had the blood of an ancient in his family from long ago and the crystal helped to bring that forward and gave him a boost above the others, even beyond the fact that he is an alpha werewolf. Peter grumbles at the fact that Scott is once again stronger than he, regardless of his current state.

 

“You’re Creepy Uncle Peter.” Isaac’s earlier confusion about the smell of the hurt wolf smelling like Peter is coming back to him. How he still wishes it was all a dream.

 

The wolf glares down at the miniature wolf and bellows as much as a dying wolf can, “You fell on the crystal that was mostly empty of the Nemeton’s power; rotten luck Isaac.” Peter chuckles as he remembers the spent crystal he used to charge the ash barrier to keep the other druids out; ‘lot of good it did, against Deaton’s magic’ he grumbles at the wasted power. He snickers as the small wolf looks horrified by the news. A small wolf’s paw slashes at the grey wolf’s snout, and then Peter’s laugh turns into a snarl. Isaac jumps back and hides behind Scott.

 

“This is your fault Peter.” Scott yells at the injured wolf.

 

“Yes it is,” a squeaky voice comes from above the wolves. A green glow now emits from the small squirrel Allison was chasing earlier.

 

“So it is, Goddess.” Peter murmurs tiredly. While these idiots were bickering, he could feel Her higher in the tree with the flower maiden. Only when she descended to his level did he deem it important enough to gather his wit for one final showdown.

 

“Goddess?” Scott retreats from the tiny being. Though inexperienced in the ways of magic, Scott can feel this being is very powerful despite her size. Allison and Isaac follow their alpha’s lead and back away from the tiny mammal approaching the giant grey wolf.

 

“Peter the Traitor Hale, more a wily coyote than a wolf. However did you manage to escape the underworld? The Moon Goddess is quite mad at your missing presence. Though she will continue to pout for I have no intention of handing you back to her. You owe me a druid and your toll will be paid today.” She snarls angrily in the memory of her friend’s murder on the count of Peter’s actions.

 

“Ho, which death will you collect today Deaton’s or my teacher’s?” He snarks at the small flying squirrel perched on root level with his dull eyes. The poison has worked through all his major organs, slowly and painfully taking away all his body’s functions. Though he can see a shape at the end of his muzzle, the poison has riddled his vision with large macular holes distorting Her appearance. His irreverent gaze more or less meets the Great Mother’s green glowing eyes in challenge. He doesn’t mind if he dies today, he has contingency plans as always.

 

“Oh no Peter, I am here to insure you pay for it all today. You see your balance is quite off.” She answers his thoughts. A cold shiver runs the course of Peter’s being as her whiskers twitch in magic. He reacts instinctively and snatches the goddess in rodent form quick in his jaws. She gives a shriek and the rest is muffled by his closing teeth, he must destroy her here if there is any chance of his soul surviving this encounter.

 

Scott’s mind blanks when the squirrel is snatched up by the wolf. The memory of Deaton yelling at him to protect her flashes through all other thoughts and he knows the druid meant Her, so he acts. Scott snaps down on the grey wolf’s leg and holds tight until the grey wolf releases the ball of fuzz.

 

With sharp claws shredding the inside of his mouth, Peter lacks the energy to hold the furious goddess and gives up in favor of biting hard on Scott’s exposed back. If he is going to die, he’ll hurt as many as he can in the process. Scott whines and manages to tear away from the weakened wolf to nurse his wound. The wolves listen as the small rodent scurries up the bark of the tree, well out of the Peter’s reach. Allison steps in front of Scott to protect him from the grey wolf, while Isaac tries to crawl up to Scott’s height to lick his wound.

 

The green light intensifies the dark cellar illuminating the wolves’ shocked faces. A rattle of a weak growl from fluid in Peter’s lungs gurgles in the silence of the cellar. A human form morphs from the grey wolf. Peter is hunched over a tree root staring angrily at the small furry creature chattering down at the man from higher in the root ball of the Nemeton. Safely tucked away for now, the small flying squirrel reels at the man in no language the human’s understand, as the goddess spasticly cleans away the green and bloody spit covering her light brown coat. Peter’s face creases in pain. Green and bloody red spittle mix to a grotesque brown in the corner of his mouth as he wheezes to catch his breath. He shudders again and falls limply to the ground, all his fight is gone. The small squirrel surges toward the dying man, before it is too late. She glides down on her winged arms to the man’s head and presses her nose to his forehead.

 

Scott gasps in horror and shelters Allison and Isaac, as they turn in fear from the sight of the goddess eating Peter’s soul. An unearthly wallow pierces the cellar, echoing out into the morning as the tainted red and black thread of light of Peter’s soul shrivels and arches away from the goddess’ green glow. The string tries to grasp onto Scott’s hurt form, sensing compatibility with the fledged wolf, but the goddess reels the soul in and consumes it all like she is slurping spaghetti. The light subsides and the small creature begins rubbing her paws over and over cleaning away the remnants of the foul tasting meal.

 

A murderous glint in her eyes reminds Scott of the very dangerous nature of this being. He steps further back from the small squirrel cleaning itself in the cellar at the base of the Nemeton. He will never look at a squirrel the same way again. He shudders in fear and looks past the creature to the limp wolf slumped in the roots of the tree. Peter’s human essence is gone. Now there is only the scent of a wolf remains, it is unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.

 

“Yes young alpha, he is the wolf side of the werewolf once known as Peter. His human soul is no longer in the cycle of rebirth. I ensured that.” She gives a tiny belch of a horrid smell. She gives a morbid chuckle.

 

Scott scrapes at his nose with his paw trying to clear the smell. “Ewe,” Allison and Isaac rumble in agreement as their sensitive noses catch the scent of Peter’s soul being digested.

 

A whimper sings above the goddess’ laugh and they all turn the hurt wolf at the flying squirrel’s feet. The wolf’s tongue lolls out his mouth as his eyes tear in pain. His muscles convulse in spasms and he retches green fluid all over the tree roots. There is a garbled whimper, then shallow breaths, and the wolf falls unconscious.

 

“You have my blessing young wolf for your assistance. Well, I best go before the heartburn starts.” She takes one final look at the wolf, the glowing green dims until the darkness of the cellar returns. There is a fizzle in the energy surrounding the Nemeton, then a loud crack and the goddess leaves the small squirrels’ form.

 

The flying squirrel blinks dizzily. Normally nocturnal, the squirrel's beady eyes take in the morning light as it filters into the dark cellar below and it twitches in disorientation. Then it spots its company and goes completely still. The wolves hear the jack hammer of a small heart and tensing muscles as it prepares to take off in fright. Survival mode pushes enough adrenaline into the tiny muscles to get it away from the predators. The prey’s tremble and burst of speed trigger Allison and Isaac wolf intuition into chasing after the creature. They bash through clots of dirt as they scramble up the tree roots after the weaving rodent. It matters not that the creature was once a deity’s vessel, the wolves chase on until they burst out of the cellar and the squirrel climbs too high for the wolves to reach.

 

There is no way Scott can look at any squirrel and want to chase it again after what he witnessed. He cautiously walks to the injured wolf’s side. Deaton’s training and his compassion too much to keep him from Peter’s side. Well not Peter, but The Wolf Formerly Known as Peter (his Prince reference needs to be shortened to something more manageable). The wolf needs help and soon if it will survive.

 

“Stiles!”

 

“Isaac! Allison!”

 

Barks of joy filter through the opening above; the wind blows the heady scent of lunar flowers. Scott laughs elatedly and turns from the injured wolf bounding out of the underground cellar to meet his friend. He jumps higher than he expected and smacks hard into something above him. He crumples in agony as he lands on his already injured back. He rolls over to look at the tree canopy above him. The Nemeton gives an angry pull on their tie in retaliation for knocking into a branch and dislodging a couple leaves.

 

‘The Nemeton was restored,’ he remembers belatedly and he just jumped straight into a solid oak limb with his head. When he came to confront Deaton last night or was it this morning. It was dark, that is all he remembers through the pain, the moonlight reflected off the white bark of the large tree. The foliage is varied hues in the daylight, but had glowed purple last night. Now the color ranges from yellow and green to purple. Strange.

 

Scott rubs at his head with his paws and peaks toward the laughing barks. He sees wiggling fur everywhere and a small crop of purple hair. A large white wolf licks eagerly at a hidden face, while Isaac’s red tail and Allison’s brown tail wag in sequence as they fight to find Stiles’ skin to cover in slobber with their affection. Human hands bat wildly in defence from the impromptu wolf bath. Scott squirms to join the revelry. He bounds over and is just about to join the pile, when he freezes at the face of his friend.

 

“Aghh! Freakish! What did they do to you?” Scott cries out in alarm.

 

(WOOOPS! forgot to dress the flower maiden correctly..... here you go)

 

Tears of shock replace the earlier ones of rejoice, as Stiles processes Scott’s cruel words. “Wha...What’s wrong with me?” Stiles asks, he gets no answer from the wolves that softly kiss his tears away.

 

Scott not catching on to his friend’s fear laced question blurts out, “You look like a seven year old girl on a Disney princess kick got to decide your features. Your hair is purple, your eyes are pink and red, your lips are blush pink, and you are wearing figure skating costume. Nice necklace, though.” Scott adds in approval of the gold moon phase necklace.

Stiles shudders at Scotts approval of the necklace. Scott’s hand traces over the symbols that started this nightmare. He can’t see his own face, but by the way the red and brown wolves avoid his eyes he knows something is different they were just so happy to see him it didn’t matter.

 

Derek stares straight into the hurt eyes of his mate and pushes reassuring love over their bond to the frightened boy. He had only just arrived at the Nemeton, when a blur of a person fell out of the tree trunk in front of him. Stiles, his flower maiden and mate, was sprawled at his feet like a gift. He was murmuring about a giant mother sitting on him and Derek wasn’t sure what the boy was going on about. He was just so relieved that Stiles was there and safe. Derek closed his eyes and sprawled forward onto the boy pinning him against the Nemeton’s trunk. He gently rubbed his muzzle all over the boy’s face and throat as the flower maiden clung desperately to the white wolf. Carding his hands through the thick coat, Stiles babbled through his harrowing story, hiccups and all. He cried something about squirrel and nuts. Derek was confused, but said nothing as he licked away Stiles pain.

 

He told Derek about Nemy and a wilted flower tomb, while awkwardly pausing to make some comment to the tree they leaned against. Stiles’ mind speak with the tree was different, but he supposed Stiles would grow more accustomed to carrying on different conversations where he wouldn’t need to verbalize his mental projection to the tree. Hearing “willow” and “withered nuts” spoken as Stiles conversed with the tree did not send good imagery to Derek’s brain. He looked down to Stiles’ crotch wondering if he was talking about tree nuts or male nuts.  Stiles had focused back on the wolf and saw the wolf’s leering gaze on his privates and grabbed him by the ears and yelled “Everyone needs to stop with Stiles nuts!”

 

It was fortunate that a horrifying wail froze Stiles’ growing temper. Derek jumped into defensive position to protect his mate. In his relief of finding Stiles safe, he failed to notice the commotion going on below him. Just as he was beginning to identify the others’ scents, a squirrel squeezed through a narrow hole at the base of the tree and ran up the tree trunk right in front of him. Derek leapt back and gave a rather high pitched squeal at the fright. He turned in embarrassment to threaten Stiles to never mention that or he would eat his face, but Derek was shocked to find Stiles crying in fright and backing shakily away from the tree. His mate was terrified of the small rodent. He just kept repeating the word ‘nuts’ over and over.

 

Derek could feel his mate’s terror echoing over the bond, so did the only thing he knew to do and gave Stiles a giant wet wolf kiss from the boy’s chin over his mouth and nose and up into his hair. Slobber pushed the teenager’s violet eyebrows into a comedic look of surprise, which matched the shock of Derek’s kiss and the sight just behind him of a small red wolf and a larger brown wolf emerging from the ground. Derek could only turn partially before the two barreled into them. The joyous barks of familiar voices screaming his name alerted Stiles to the fact that the two wolves were his friends. He only had a moment to wait from his trapped position to hear the crack of a skull bone striking the tree to know that Scott was here too.

 

Nemy certainly had some choice colors to flash at the lack of quality in Scott as a guardian. Really what kind of guardian hurts their protectee? Stiles was so happy to see his best friend and pack that he really never questioned the whys of their circumstance meeting or the fact they were all wolves, he just felt joy that they were all together and alive. Then Scott had to ruin everything.

 

Stiles pushed Scott’s hand away from the cold metal collar around his neck. Absorbing Scott’s careless comment, the flower maiden withdrew from the wolves surrounding him and stepped out of the wolf pile. Derek lashed out at the clueless multicolored wolf, pinning him to the ground and holding his neck in his teeth when Stiles brushed his soft reassuring love away.

 

Scott certainly noticed the dour mood now that he was flattened to the earth by an angry white wolf. “Derek? I thought you left?” Scott always knew the worst things to say.

 

‘“Yeah, he left me.” Stiles turns his back from the group and walks over to Nemy for support. Derek can’t stand his mate’s rejection and shifts to his human form with ease. He wraps his long arms around the back of his mate and holds Stiles gently. He doesn’t try to placate the flower maiden with excuses, he just holds him. Words are armor for Stiles and a weakness for Derek, he just lets his gestures and presence be everything to make Stiles understand. Stiles must get what Derek means because he relaxes back into Derek’s hug. “But he came back,” Stiles finishes.

 

“How did you do that?” Isaac whines at Derek’s human appearance.

 

“Do what?” Though Derek knows exactly what the little pup meant, he teases the pup for awhile. His head trips into his past life have given him the answer. His human shape is a magic illusion instead of a physical shift the werewolves know because they are still part human. Technically he, Scott, Allison and Isaac are wolves and no longer human. They are the ancient wolves with magic and will need to adapt their ways to this new existence. Instead of answering the question about shifting he asks, “Isaac why are you a puppy?”

 

“I am not a puppy!” Isaac growls out. He romps sweetly up to Derek then bites his foot like a demon.

 

“Not a puppy, a vindictive hell child,” Derek rubs his sore foot. Isaac just grumbles at the man and scrambles over to Stiles to be picked up.

 

Stiles lifts the pup out of Sourwolf’s reach and cuddles him. Isaac melts into Stiles’ fragrance and warmth. Of course, Derek grows jealous. “Don’t be mean!” Stiles chides Derek, when the older man swats the puppy’s nose.

 

Scott mulishly shuffles over to Stiles. “I’m sorry Stiles. It just surprised me. We… I was so worried something was wrong with you when Lydia called, then we found Deaton, and you were like Han Solo on us and the earthquake, oh my god and your hair is so different, but you smell so good…” Scott is mumbling as he is rubbing and drooling all over Stiles, his pathetic attempt at an apology goes haywire as he huffs Stiles’ scent like a drug. Derek shoves Scott off of Stiles, whose hands are full of a blissed out puppy.

 

“Thank you,” Stiles mouths at Derek.

 

Fresh air seems to clear the alpha’s head. “Ah okay that was weird. Stiles, Bro, I am sorry. I love you man. You scared the crap out of us. I don’t get everything that is going on, at all, but at least you are safe. Er… You look good in violet… No wait, I want you to know that I am fine with everything. The pink eyes are just that pink; everyone has to have color to his or her eyes. You’re just… unique… you and Derek together is good, okay. I don’t care if you are gay or bi, that’s what I am trying to say. I just want you to be happy.” Scott stumbles through everything with puppy eyes, which clearly no longer beat Isaac’s, but work well enough to get Stiles to forgive him.

 

“Alright Scott, I get it.” And because Stiles can be a jerk he adds, “and just so you know I don’t care if you are polyamorous, bi, and into bestiality. I love you, too.” Scott looks confusedly at Stiles, then over at Allison and Isaac. He sees them shake their head and huff in denial and catches on to what his friend implied.

 

“Oh my god no Stiles! We are not doing anything. For god’s sake, Isaac is a puppy.” Scott is horrified at the thought of mixing things up as wolf and with a puppy.

 

“Good. I was about to bash you over the head if you were thinking of putting the moves on a puppy.” Stiles grins at his flustered friend.

 

“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.” Scott chants as he closes his eyes. He sees the teenage male Isaac and himself kissing while Allison rides both…. he opens his eyes in panic. He watches his packmates staring at him in humor. Isaac’s bright red coat being softly pet by the flower maiden, while Allison rolls contentedly at his feet. “Oh my god wrong,” he whispers to himself. He cannot think of the wolves as his possible lovers. He won’t.

 

“I am not a puppy!” Isaac tries again. Stiles just shushes him and cuddles him into a pleasant rocking motion used for upset children. Isaac drifts off again to his happy place.

 

“Why is Allison even a wolf?” Derek asks Scott accusingly. “Did you bite her to get her back? Argent is going to kill you.”

 

“No dammit it was Peter!” Scott yells remembering the dying wolf under their feet. He scowls at the ex-alpha, “Unlike some alphas I know,” he barks out “Hales” under his breath, “I don’t go around biting people the moment I gained the power.”

 

Derek scowls over at Scott at the insult, but accepts the true alpha’s statement. “Then if it was Peter, he gained the power to turn her somehow?”

 

“Peter had crystals,” Allison adds by way of explanation.

 

“Oh my god, tell me you didn’t smoke them.” Stiles whines out to the group.

 

“Says the flower boy in a costume.” Snarks Isaac. He whines as he is promptly dropped by a pissed off flower maiden.

 

“No you idiot,” Scott growls out. “They were glowing and there was a flash of light when we touched them.”

 

“Oh so you just thought it ok to touch a glowing magical object Peter gave you?” Stiles cannot believe his friend’s stupidity.

 

Scott barks at Stiles, then looks embarrassed with his lack of control, “No we touched them by accident during the earthquake. Peter had at one point tried to use the crystals against Deaton, who was controlling the tremors. The crystals must have fallen below because we all hit them when we fell. There was a flash then nothing, we feel to sleep.”

 

“Earthquake?” Stiles looks around and notices all the downed trees. The earth looks fractured in spots but other than that the forest surrounding the Nemeton appears normal.

 

“Peter said that the one that I fell on had less power in the stone or something,” Isaac says as he looks down at his tiny paw next Scott’s larger paw. He adds enviously “that is why I am a freaking puppy. There wasn’t enough juice to give me full power.”

 

“So it deaged you? That doesn’t make sense. Why not a full grown weak wolf instead of a small puppy version? It’s probably because you wouldn’t shut up about wanting a puppy. It’s called irony Isaac.” Stiles is tired of this bullshit and it just irritates him to remember the boy giggling over the puppies in that stupid book.

 

“Ha! You’re now a lunar flower mutant and you call my case ironic. You’re the one that napped with Deaton’s ficus in your arms and now you can talk to them. Take that irony and stick it up your virgin plant-” Isaac scrambles when Stiles actually tries to kick him. “Hey you asshole, kicking puppies make you feel tough? You pansy.”

 

“You just admitted you’re a pup, Pup.” Stiles growls back.

 

“It’s probably because Isaac is a child at heart.” Derek teases Isaac lightly, while he herds his fuming mate away from the growling runt.

 

Of course, the gentle truce is ruined as Stiles mind to mouth filter malfunctions and he opens his mouth, “That would explain why Allison is a female wolf. You know because she is a bitch at heart.”

 

Allison sees red and she lunges at Stiles. “Flower maiden be damned, I will teach Mr. Rainbow Bright here a thing or two.” She gives a war cry chasing the flower maiden, who darts between the wolves and around the Nemeton. She aims to puncture, but gets clipped under her jaw by Scott defending Stiles. 

 

“Stop it Allison!” Scott’s alpha order flows over the fury, calming her. She rolls playfully under the strong alpha wiggling just right. Scott grunts and has to shift awkwardly from the vixen.

 

“Shit, Stiles. You’ve watched all those wolf documentaries. You should know not to irritate an alpha pair while she’s in heat.” Derek chides his mate playfully nipping at his chin.

 

“Feisty little bitch.” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s hair.

 

Allison begins to lunge at Stiles again, but Scott just sits on her. “Everyone just stop it. Allison, do not bite Stiles.”

 

“So now you’re taking his side? He called me a bitch.” She yells at the alpha. Isaac moves to placate his pack to keep the peace. He rolls forward and starts nipping playfully at Allison’s ears. It seems to calm the wolf and she paws gently at the smaller pup.

 

“Oh my goddess, Derek can we keep him? I want a puppy.” Stiles crawls forward to pet Isaac, but he snaps at Stiles outstretched hand. 

 

Scott lunges forward and bats the smaller wolf away from Stiles, as the pup tries to take a second bite. “For fuck sake, stop trying to bite Stiles.”

 

“The mutant called my girlfriend a bitch!” Isaac growls out.

 

“Hey aren’t you wolves supposed to revere me and protect me, not try to maim me? I bring you a chance of Paradise and this is the treatment I get.”

 

“I’ll protect and revere your asshole…Ah, I mean I will protect you, even if you can be an asshole, Stiles.” Derek blushes heavily from his fumbled words. When he saw his mate cuddling Isaac earlier and now asking to have one of their own, all Derek could see was his own pup in his mate’s arms. He leans into to kiss and nip his mates neck, thinking of the possibility.

 

“Please Isaac, you’ve worked around the vet long enough to know what Stiles was trying to funny about, so drop it. Besides if you bite Stiles you’ll likely die.” Scott exasperation with his two packmates violent outbursts is enough to keep him on his toes.

 

“What the hell are you talking about Scott?” Derek asks mid nibble. He gently releases Stiles flesh from between his teeth and backs away slowly like Stiles is a time bomb. Stiles scowls at the man’s behavior. He was enjoying Derek’s attention.

 

“Look Peter’s vomiting a green liquid and expelling the fluid from all his orifices, much like a poison. Deaton had a patient that had been poisoned by an abusive neighbor. This was before my time as werewolf, he…” Scott pauses to collect his confused feelings toward his mentor, “he told me how being a vet was just as much about saving lives as knowing when to let go. He said that if I wanted to stay in the profession, it was something I would need to know. I never forgot that dog, I chose to help put her down.” Scott blinks away a small tear at the memory. “My point is that Peter has the same signs as that dog. His ailment stems from the poison shutting down all his major organs. Whatever is in his bloodstream, shares similar scent note to the flower maiden.” Scott looks over his pack solemnly as all the wolves scent the boy nervously. “Peter and Deaton fought before we arrived. Something to do with lunar flowers made the wolf ill. Do not bite Stiles,” Scott reiterates and smirks as he adds, “at least until we find out where the poison comes from.”

 

“Hey! Stiles objects to any vicious biting of his person.” Stiles ridiculously adds, eyeing dangerous sharp pointy mouths in the group, which is everyone but himself.

 

“Yeah, maybe Derek should take it easy with the kisses,” Allison jibes at the pair. Derek actually scoots further from his mate in fear. He moves to wipe his tongue free of Stiles’ spit and that does it for the hurt teenager. Stiles swings hard and clips the man in the jaw.

 

“Flower maidens shouldn’t be violent!” Derek whines. His mate has gained some force behind his punches after years of hanging out with werewolves.

 

“Ah come on Der-bear, pucker up, my lover. How else are we gonna open Paradise?” Stiles blushes as he straddles his kneeling mate and forces out the humiliating words. The fact that he is being so intimate with a man, who only made physical contact with him in order to emphasize a punishment or a threat, is enough to make Stiles nervous. Mates or not he hasn’t touched the man with seduction in mind before. He has no intention of wilting before this mysterious Paradise can open, so he may be rushing things beyond his comfort level, but what can he do. He feels how much Derek loves him through their bond and he returns the sentiments fully, so he goes with his body’s needs. He blushes red as he paws Derek’s chest with his inexperienced hands in front of his friends. There must be something in his blood because he is loosing all brain function to his dick as he earns a mew from the man/wolf for pinching his nipple.

 

Derek growls in embarrassment to cover up his kitten mew from his mate’s ministrations. ‘Stiles on his lap is heaven,’ Derek thinks. Despite the corny attempt to flirt and audience, Derek is all for this new development, “I can think of another way to open Paradise.” Derek’s hand drifts back behind the boy to cup Stiles’ bruised ass and he gives a squeeze. Sensing the burst of anger and fear over the bond Derek zips away from Stiles left hook. Stiles is bright red and with his rose colored eyes he lights up red like Rudolf. Derek dares to whisper the reindeer’s name, while laughing at Stiles timid reaction to his intimate touch. The man crumples in pain as Stiles’ knee finds Derek’s boys.

 

Stiles growls at the groaning man rolling on the ground and says, “You can forget your little vacation in paradise, asshole.” Stiles is a little bit hurt that Derek would laugh at him. He is new to this; he can’t help it if he doesn’t feel comfortable with Derek heading straight to the backdoor. Hell he is mortified, his friends and pack mates are right here! ‘Fuck Derek for taking this life or death thing as a joke.’

 

“Trouble in paradise,” Isaac sing-songs to Allison and Scott and they watch the clash of the Fate’s couple.

 

‘These fools are Fate’s chosen. The world is doomed,’ Scott thinks. Allison and Isaac seem to know what Scott is thinking and just nods along with their alpha.

 

Stiles’ jaw drops at the all-round evil that he calls his friends. He expects Scott at least to defend his honor, but the bastard is right there shaking his head at him. He flashes Scott and pack the middle finger, and then turns from his supposed friends. He walks around the side of Nemy to cool off. He needs a moment to collect himself. His nerves are fried and he cannot begin to put order to his thoughts.

 

He decides to start at the beginning. He freaking got kidnapped by fireflies, so a druid could shove a seed down his throat and turn him into a freaking flower maiden. He shudders at the memory of the man holding him down and shoving his fingers in his mouth. He tugs at the necklace in fury, but the metal doesn’t give. ‘Okay, not a pleasant thing to be collared. He will pay.’ Stiles dreams of his retribution.

 

Nemy softly rustles his branches in a soothing way. The tree gained so much from the sacrifice/ceremony, while Stiles is unsure how he has fared. So far he only feels victimized, save for one thing: Derek. Stiles tilts his head and pulses a soft gold color to Nemy to let him know he is ok, though they both know it’s not true.

 

Derek’s wolf shadow peaks around the side of the Nemeton. Stiles doesn’t turn to watch the wolf approach, he keeps his eyes downcast and sighs in relief when the wolf makes no move to press up to the boy. Rather the wolf sits patiently at his side trying to create the illusion that Stiles is alone with his thoughts when it is quite the opposite; he is tied to both Derek and the Nemeton.

 

He knows he is broadcasting every thought and the many unfocused tangents courtesy his ADHD on accident to Nemy and will continue to until he gains control and understanding of tree speech. ‘Some of my thoughts are not meant to be shared,’ Stiles admits in embarrassment. The tree lights up in a joyful sequence of colors. ‘Probably laughing at me,’ Stiles thinks.

 

Stiles snorts at the soft touch of Derek’s bond caressing his heart. He is no longer the loner human caught up in werewolf antics as Scott’s best friend. Now he is essentially wolf-married to this older... ‘man or is he a wolf,’ he tries to make sense of what is what. Magic and crystals have blurred so many lines. “Tell me this is not bestiality.” He murmurs aloud. Derek cocks his head sideways, but makes no answer.

 

So much has changed in such a short amount of time. The Goddess accepted him as the Druid’s chosen and showed him his destiny should he fail. He trembles at the thought of becoming a shriveled petrified tree if he and Derek can’t open Paradise, plus there is the minor detail that the earth will freeze over and all life will die. And if he succeeds and helps Derek open a world of the wolf’s making, how can he know Derek will keep the balance? After all, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.* Derek has suffered so much misery in his life, he could change the fates to his will and destroy this gift. Stiles immediately stills that line of thought. The Moon Goddess must have enough faith in him to have chosen Derek as the one wolf. And he trusts Derek as his mate, despite his sour nature to do the world right. Plus, the Great Mother accepted him so maybe together they won’t fuck things up. Stiles wants curly fry trees to be a part of Derek’s Paradise, but somehow he thinks this would be against nature.

 

He bends his hand back to touch the tree where a blackened stump once stood. Nemy gives off heated gold and red flashes in Stiles mind acknowledging his caress and answers his previous thought, with a dire warning that Stiles cannot will things like his own unearthly creations into existence. Stiles pulls his hand away in petulant manner and sends the mental image to Nemy, ‘that he is not intending on changing things, it was just a thought;  a brilliant thought, but he wouldn’t dare. Besides bad touch tree has some apologizing to do before he wants to hear Nemy’s input on Paradise.’ He shifts slightly to ease the pressure from the trees earlier punishment. He remembers the mean tree sides with Nut Head, all the time. His princess makeover is probably the bad touch tree’s input to the goddess and a way of getting back at him. ‘The Bitch.’ Stiles thinks about the way she threatened his balls and shoved him out of the tree, Nemy chides Stiles mentally and moves his root from under Stiles, causing the flower maiden to fall hard on his already aching ass.

 

Chattering from high in the tree causes Stiles to flinch violently in fear. He dives behind Derek for cover from an irritated goddess, but the chattering rodent remains un-glowy and normal. It just wants the predators away from its fine new home. Relief replaces fear and Stiles wipes his hand across his brow to clean away the cold sweat. He smells his flowery perfume and experimentally tastes his sweat. It is sweet like honey. He gags at the taste. “Why can’t I taste salt like normal sweat? That druid will pay for this,” he mumbles.

 

Derek just sighs and nudges Stiles side to upright the boy. He flashes Derek a sneer, to let the wolf know he is not forgiven. Derek whines and pushes softly and teasingly at Stiles bond to gain his forgiveness. Stiles gives the apologetic wolf an appraising look, while his mind continues to spiral away. ‘We can’t leave on a crazy adventure mad and expect this magical Paradise to just appear. Or maybe crazy angry make up sex is the key to Paradise? Or would that open an unbalanced Paradise? What the hell is Paradise?’

 

Stiles is lost in thought until a high pitched squeal from Scott yelling out “Squirrel” from the other side of the giant white oak tree catches his attention. So the goddess has been busy terrifying more than just him. His best friend is a fellow comrade against pint-sized super beings; he guesses he can stand to forgive the asshole. Scott is apparently so freaked that he rushes around to find Stiles, followed closely by Allison and Isaac. Isaac trips navigating the tree roots and rolls into Derek as a tangle of puppy limbs.

 

‘Cute,’ Stiles thinks as Derek gently rights the fallen pup. A new tender side of Derek is showing through his wolf form that the man could never trust anyone to see before. ‘I still want one,’ Stiles blinks to clear the father-son image from his head, which of course triggers a thought of his own father.  “Oh my god my dad!” He yanks at his violet hair and freaks, “He is going to kill me for this, the son of the Sheriff going ultra-poof!”

 

“Shut up Stiles, your father loves you. He won’t care about your bishounen anime hair.” Scott chides Stiles.

 

“Huh?” Stiles for once has no idea what came out of Scott’s mouth.

 

“Forget it and your father too. The squirrel reminded me about the wolf. You need to help him or he’s going to die.” Scott grasps Stiles by the shoulders, not giving him a chance to escape and leads him over to the opening where the cellar stairs used to be.

 

“Uh Scott,” Scott pushes Stiles forward down the hole in his impatience to check on his patient. Derek snarls at the multicolored wolf and snaps to grab the falling boy, but is too late to save Stiles. He surprises everyone, including himself, by twirling gracefully with his legs pointed straight and his arms spread wide. He spins like a helicopter seed and lands delicately in the underground chamber. The wolves land all around him nuzzling him in concern.

 

“Idiot,” Derek grumbles at Scott. Stiles decides Scott’s sheepish look is just wrong on the face of a wolf, but he forgives the animal lover.

 

“Urgh, it smells like something died in here,” Stiles pinches his nose.

 

“That would be Peter,” Allison waves over to the unconscious wolf

 

“No that would be Jennifer,” Isaac motions to the grotesque mound of rotting flesh tucked away in the deepest roots. The pup feels no accomplishment at finding the last smell he had missed when he woke up earlier. Scott looks over to where Isaac points and confirms Deaton’s findings.

 

Stiles eyes Derek as he glances to the side, but makes no move to follow the boys. Instead Derek steps closer to Stiles and deeply breathes in his mates scent. The woman is not worth a thought in the presence of his Stiles. Stiles smirks at Derek and they move over to the grey wolf. The ground is slick with body fluid and poison. The wolf is still alive, but his chest barely rises and falls. He’ll die in another ten minutes if they can find no way to help.

 

Derek is the first to speak at the somber sight. “Peter,” his eyes tear and his voice catches. For the number of times he has wished his uncle deceased (permanently), the echo of love he once held for his family member still pierces through his hate.

 

“You mean that is Peter,” Stiles can not decide if he feels joy or sadness at the sight of the sickly wolf in front of him. “Maybe he should just die, this is probably all his fault.”

 

“It is,” Isaac says with conviction.

 

“How do you know that?” Derek warily asks the pup.

 

“At the clinic, Deaton and Morell were fighting about Peter starting the purification rite to use the Nemeton’s power to open Paradise. Scott and I learned all about the alchemists and wolves from Deaton’s book.” Isaac hunches away from the anger pouring off the flower maiden.

 

“You knew what was going to happen!” Stiles shrills at the wolf pup and aims to snatch him up and scream or shake the little thing, but Allison and Scott move to defend the innocent wolf. “You let them do this to me!” He screams from Derek’s now human arms wrapped tight around his enraged mate.

 

“You knew,” Stiles tears fall to the floor as he looks to his best friend.

 

“No, Stiles.” Scott says simply staring right into Stiles rose colored eyes. Hurt at seeing that Stiles doesn’t believe him, he continues, “I had no idea this is what Deaton meant to do when he said Peter must be stopped. I assumed this was just about Peter, not you or Derek.”

 

“What does Deaton know about us?” Derek cringes at the thought that the Hale Emissary once again withheld vital information and silently moved without any consultation to his pack, well the McCall’s pack now.

 

“Enough to know about your mate bond. He didn’t directly say anything about you guys, but he was very agitated you were leaving Beacon Hills. Derek apparently is the only wolf that can open Paradise. Peter was going to use Stiles as his own key regardless of the Goddess’ blessing.”

 

Stiles is shaking and on the edge of a panic attack. “Peter was the one who put me in the tree?”

 

Scott’s eyes flash red in rage at his best friend’s abuse at the hands of his mentor. It hurts to admit his pseudo father’s transgressions. He doubts Stiles would be pleased with the necessary measures he would be burdened with to save the world, but Deaton should have at least talked with Stiles and Derek. Instead he must tell his friend that a man he has come to trust full heartedly is responsible for the most terrifying night of his friend’s life.

 

“Deaton did it, so Peter wouldn’t. He is helping us.” He knows he is a crap friend for defending the man over this violation, but he shudders to think of the means Peter would take to insure Stiles cooperation.

 

Stiles’ breath hitches and he falls to the tree roots. His vision is darkened by the already poorly lit space, but he knows the black spots are from lack of oxygen. A jolt surges from his mate bond and he gasps at the euphoric feeling. He pulls enough air into his lungs to keep from passing out. Derek holds him lightly tapping a rhythm for Stiles to follow. As he pulls and expels each breath in time to Derek, he clings desperately to the man. He simply aches, but at least he feels something other than the numbness he desires. Derek and the Nemeton keep him from slipping away from this nightmare.

 

Stiles cannot speak to Scott. Even if he wasn’t just recovering from a panic attack, he would find no words to describe the betrayal he feels. Scott is not saying this lightly. He knows how he strives to be fair, but Stiles always felt Scott to be a bit blase for giving second chances. Apparently everyone gets a free pass with Scott: Deucalion, the twins, Allison, Peter, even Deaton. Stiles wonders what a person would have to do for Scott to truly write them off. All you have to do to get in Scott’s good grace is tell him you need him or that you believe in him; that the alpha is special. True for all, but Derek and his own father, Scott has loads of forgiveness. Too bad for Deaton, Stiles isn’t so cheap.

 

Scott feels drained of his energy, as he feels Stiles packbond pull away from him. He doesn’t think Stiles is in a place to understand the man’s sacrifice. Hell if he is honest with himself he is furious with the man, but he still trusts Deaton was working to save them. He whines as the injury in his back twinges in damp cellar and he sits roughly on the ground.

 

“Scott your back is bleeding. Oh my god your weeping green pus! Why aren’t you healing?” Allison scrambles over to her alpha.

 

“It’s Peter’s bite. He had the poison all over his mouth.” Isaac cries into Scott’s flank.

 

Derek crouches low to meet his mate’s eyes. He finds the soft rose pink glistening in the dark. “Stiles you can save him save them both.” He gestures at Scott and at the grey wolf.

 

Stiles shock at Derek asking him to save his best friend burns. Angry with Scott or not, there is no way he’d leave the teenager/wolf to die. But asking to save Creepy Uncle is enough to revive the tired boy and feed his being with anger. ‘No way all this anger is healthy,’ Stiles thinks, but uses it anyway.

 

Before Stiles can lay into Derek about requesting to save Peter, Derek places a soft chaste kiss to his mouth silencing him. “Stiles wolves are no longer werewolves with immediate healing; now we must bathe in the moonlight to fully heal. Sure we heal faster than humans, but the magic and Paradise come at a price. Stiles as the flower maiden, you can heal us just as we did before, probably even faster. Please help Scott and this wolf. He is no longer Peter. He smells nothing like the man. All that he is is a wolf, nothing more.”

 

Derek implores his mate to act, not for the sake of his uncle’s memory, but for Peter’s wolf. Years of twisted human emotions tearing away at the wolf, crippling him and deforming him. Now the wolf has a chance to live and be free of Peter the man. To live as a whole being, not a crippled split soul. The goddess gave him the chance to live and Derek will not let this gift waste away. “Peter has payed for his crimes, the wolf is innocent.”

 

The Nemeton renders a very graphic picture of the small Nuthead consuming a twisted black and red ribbon of light, until nothing but glowing green remained. She devoured Peter’s soul. The flashes of gold and an overwhelming sense of justice clarify that Nemy is pleased with the goddess’ work.

 

Stiles searches Derek’s face. He is impressed with Derek’s clarity. Had he been here alone, he would have allowed the man to die in absolute suffering, but he knows Derek is right. Nemy agrees and not that he is about to take on a pervy tree as a councilor, he decides to trust Derek. Plus, whatever is in his blood as flower maiden calls to him to help all wolves. It’s revolting. “I should get sainthood or something.”

 

He steps barefooted into the gooey mess surrounding the ill wolf. He holds his hand over the wolf’s neck wound and he says, “Heal.” Nothing happens. Embarrassed at his performance Stiles yells louder, “Heal.”

 

Derek saunters over to his flustered flower maiden. He holds the boys hand in his own as he gently pushes Stiles palm into the fur surrounding the gaping wound.“Stiles you have to pet to heal him.”

 

“Ewe.” Stiles cringes as his fingers glide softly over the flesh wound caking in blood and pus. But under Derek’s guidance he continues his ministrations.

 

With each minute the wolf breathes deeper and more evenly, the rattle of fluid in wolf’s lungs softens until the he is peacefully sleeping. The grey wolf’s taught face softens to pain free after a solid half hour of the flower maiden message. He will live.

 

Scott bounces eagerly as Stiles moves to pet the multicolored wolf. No where near the desperate need for healing as the grey wolf, Scott had to wait patiently for Stiles to finish. Scott misses the werewolf healing. He cannot fathom a severe wound unattended by the flower maiden. It would be just like being human. It’s not fair.

 

It’s not that Stiles is slightly vindictive, but he may have overestimated his friend’s ability to tough it out. Scott gives a pained whine when the flower maiden applies to much pressure to his back.

 

“Sorry,” Stiles doesn’t sound sympathetic enough for Allison, judging by the curl of her lip, but she let’s it slide, so that Scott can heal in peace. She settles at the large wolf’s hind legs and Isaac moves to curl into Scott’s front, so Stiles can reach his back.

 

“Oh Stiles,” Scott shivers in delight at his friend’s touch and gives an obnoxiously groan in pleasure. “You feel so good touching me.” Stiles chuckles and lifts his head to meet Derek’s jealous eyes. He runs his hand over Scott’s flank, not paying attention to the puddle that is Scott the wolf. He lowers his eyelids into a sultry look and bites his lip.

 

“Yes! I like that. Do it again!” Scott says lost in pleasure. His wound finishes healing all the poison expelled from the body, but Stiles continues to torment Derek by petting Scott. “You smell so good!” Scott arches under Stiles hand and starts to lick the boy all over his face.

 

“Knock it off brat,” Derek growls at Scott as he swats Scott’s nose. Isaac and Allison glare at Stiles, even though the flower maiden just healed their lover. Secretly, all the wolves are equally disappointed the flower maiden is not petting them, regardless that the flower maiden is a sadist.

 

Stiles moves to stand, but sways and hits the floor in his exhaustion.

 

“Stiles,” Derek gasps and cradles the fallen boy in his arms. Stiles feels the tug of the Nemeton and grits his disoriented brain against the flashes of light. The message is clear. He needs water. Being a plant now, he needs light and water. Nemy also informs him he needs to rest or he will begin to whither.

 

“No, please goddess, spare me!” He turns franticly in Derek’s arms to yell, “Take me to a stream right now, I will not turn into a creepy tree husk.”

 

The words trigger a distant memory of Derek’s past life. He sees the white wolf’s flower maiden, assuming her true form of a _hanabito_ ** tree, and then she burst into thousands of seeds. Derek flings Stiles over his shoulder and flies out of the cellar to land a great distance away from the tree. He won’t slow for the chorus of confused barks behind the pair. He will not let Stiles suffer the same fate. His mate will be human, not some plant. He will do all in his power to get the insufferable human back to normal. He just prays it’s possible.

 

With that promise in mind, Derek races out of the Nemeton’s valley, carrying his flower maiden bridal style followed by three very confused wolves in hot pursuit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Saint Bernard of Clairvaux c. 1150 (Wikipedia)  
> **Hanabito- is a humanoid lunar flower, the species of ancient being is the foundation for the alchemists’ supposedly perfected design of a flower maiden as a human made key to open paradise (this is kind of my interpretation of what it means, because there is no detail given in the anime). A hanabito, according to the internet research is a woman or spirit who entraps men with their scent.
> 
> So to be clear Peter's human soul is dead and the wolf is healed by Stiles.
> 
> Stiles necklace: waxing crescent moon (maiden), full moon (mother), waning crescent moon (crone) represents the trinity of godess' persona in life's cycle.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: Kidnapping, Non-con drug use, breakup?
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR! Health and Wealth to all Teen Wolf lovers out there!
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope to get another chapter edited and posted soon. The days are counting down to the new season! Enjoy. Always happy to get your questions or opinions. I was doing a little editing to the tags and mentioned how this monster is already over 99,000 words so I hope that you guys will stay with it.

 

By AzulMountain

Chapter Seven

 

 

Cabin in Beacon Hills Preserve, FBI safe house (mid morning)

 

Garlic. Chris shudders at the taste sensation filling his mouth with the pungent herb. He drools a little, but can’t bring himself to care as he glares through his open eye at the agent crouched in front of him. The young man is busy organizing the intravenous kit he used to administer the drug. Chris flexes his arm in its binds in the unconscious move to wipe away the tacky blood from his face. The wound on his forehead is open again, after his struggle with the three agents to restrain him to the chair he is now bound. Cold sweat mixes with the dripping blood and stings his closed icy-grey eye. Chris’ muscles shake from the exertion he expends to fight off the effect of the drug. He feels the drug forcing him to relax, his anxiety ebbing away.

 

“You look good like that Argent, all tousled and bound.” Agent McCall’s eyes careen over Chirs’ mostly naked body lest he be caught leering at his prisoner by the other agents. Unfortunately, his colleague insisted the man keep his dignity and allowed Chris to don his boxer shorts.

 

The process of divesting Argent of his many hidden weapons was a treat for McCall. Each shed layer leading to new discovery, until the man was fully naked. Chris’ taut trained muscle proved enough of a distraction for the agent earlier. Chris proved he is a man just as dangerous with out his weapon as with. The scramble following, not exactly fair three on one, but Argent made the point he is not to be trifled with. Judging by the force of the jab to McCall’s stomach and the kicks delivered to his recovering teammates, Argent has years of fighting experience.

 

Chris’ patented smirk replaces his angry scowl as he gathers the rancid tasting spit in his mouth and launches it in the agent’s face. ‘Great, I have internal bleeding.’ Chris thinks as he watches the pink spittle run down his captor’s nose.

 

The agent aims to punch Chris in the face, but changes tactics last minute and unfolds his fist to gently trail his hand over the sitting man’s hard chest. Chris hitches a breath at the unexpected soft touch. McCall’s hand draws up to his neck and clamps viciously over his windpipe. That’s more along the lines of what Chris expects. He endures the blossoming pain, as he coughs at the pressure. Tears choke him just as much as the man’s grip. His face matches the hue of the numerous bruises adorning his face by the time McCall lets go at another agent’s prodding.

 

“We need him to talk, McCall. If I have to ventilate him from a side effect of you squeezing the hell out his throat, when he is already bound to have some apnea from the sodium thiopental, you won’t be able to interrogate him for another 12 hours when we can safely dose him again.” The agent, who administered the drug, cautiously reminds his superior.

 

“Right.” Agent McCall gives Chris a light tap to his cheek. “I can’t say I heard something about the case from a little bird, if he can’t sing. Let me know when he is ready Jacobs.” With that Agent McCall strides from the room.

 

While Chris’ breathing never returns to normal in the time he is under their care, he at least manages on his own without the aid of a machine. Thankfully Scott’s dad hasn’t inflicted enough damage so far, that Chris isn’t capable of escaping under his own power. As the fast acting barbiturate makes its way through his system, Chris begins to lose his resolve to get out of the chair.

 

Chris’ aching head rolls to the side and he feels the press of the medically trained agent, Jacobs, checking his pulse. “He is ready,” the man calls out.

 

Chris flinches at the noise level. ‘Why does my head hurt so much? Is it because I have a hangover, caffeine deprived, been tased, drugged, or choked?...Or All of the above,’ Chris answers his own mental questionnaire with miserable groan. “All,” he speaks out loud getting a questioning look from Jacobs.

 

“Whops,” Chris mumbles. The truth serum is affecting him a little more than he realized. He tries to stop thinking and channel nonsense to garble his brain into avoiding his secrets for the unpleasantness that is sure to follow. He needs to pull a Stiles. His body protests the mind noise and is instantly nauseous. He vomits to the side. “My stomach can’t handle that kid’s roller coaster mind,” He slurs out loud and grimaces at the disgusting sour and garlic taste in his mouth leftover from vomiting. Maybe the glock gave him a concussion, but it is likely the drugs.

 

“Okay there Mr. Argent?” Jacob flashes a light in his eyes to judge his pupils’ reaction to the light.

 

Chris shrinks back from the light as much as the bindings allow. Jacobs must not be happy with the findings. He turns to address his superior, who has just returned to the room and speaks in quiet mummers. Chris cannot hear or even focus enough to concentrate. Inwardly, Chris catalogues his reactions and admits that he may be in worse shape than he has ever experienced in the hunter’s mock training for counter interrogation.  This certainly isn’t the hunter’s first time in the hot seat or doped up on barbiturates, but this is the first time for a live scenario. Most werewolves don’t bother taking prisoners, let alone have access to such a drug.

 

“Nonsense,” McCall bellows at his teammate. His crew is under the guise that this questioning is a direct command from the upper echelon, when in fact this is McCall’s personal revenge and last chance to saving his double careers at the cost of probably his entire team’s dismissal by association. With criminal charges of misconduct, kidnapping, assault, and maliciously administering a controlled substance to start, McCall also plans to clean up after himself and things can only get worse for his compatriots and captive. Accidents with wild animals are so common on the preserve these days.

 

He scowls down at the man he knows to be at the heart of these accidents; incidents, that have involved the Council precious Spark, Stiles, and his son. He intends on squeezing every last drop of intel from the man. “It is time to sing my little bird.” McCall laughs at the wreck of a man seated before him.

 

Chris groggily looks up to the man. ‘Show time,’ he thinks and gives a real groan. He doesn’t need to fake the pain, just the answers.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Cora ducks under a limb at a full run. The cumbersome pack sways heavily on her back snagging on the bark. Dislodged bark pieces crumble down her shirt and scratch her sweat soaked back. She is used to running with nothing to slow her down; the extra weight and her fast pace, she is beginning to test her endurance.

 

She has no idea how the white wolf has covered the distance so fast. Already the scent trail is cool and Cora has only to thank Derek’s one-track mind she can follow. He didn’t even try to disguise his trail. ‘That’s a Werewolf 101 mistake,’ She mentally chides her older brother for his lack of safety.

 

At first, Cora lost all hope of tracking the white wolf. The heavy smoke and fire retardant masked Derek’s exit from the interstate. She had to waste precious time retracing her steps and visually scan the ground. By the time she reoriented herself using the Sheriff’s map, she had lost a good hour.

 

Flapping her shirt back, she frees the itchy debris. Stopping for only a short moment, she picks up the quiet footsteps she otherwise would have missed. She goes still and presses out her hearing ability to locate the steps, but whatever is near has stopped moving. Her heartbeat remains even as she crouches lower, to try and cover her position. She has no protection among the ferns and pine needles. She is completely open to any projectile attacks. Cora slowly maneuvers herself to the side of a giant redwood tree, so at least her back is covered and waits cautiously. A rustle above her is the only warning she gets before a small object comes barreling straight at her.

 

“Shit,” Cora dodges the scampering squirrel and immediately scolds her wolf for fearing a squirrel. She laughs at her stupidity, until a blood chilling growl reveals why the critter was in a hurry.

 

Cora spins around to face the most horrific werewolf she had ever seen. He barely walks on two legs dragging his tree trunk arms as his back arches forward to hold the weight of his massive head, more like a huge gorilla then werewolf. The partially human face with an elongated nose and sharp wolf teeth jut from his underbite jaw.

 

“Hale,” The monster purrs.

 

“Oh fuck,” Cora dodges the fist that aims to grab her shoulder, only to be caught when the thing catches the bag’s strap. It lifts the black bag strap and her by default, and tosses her into the redwood tree. She smacks her hip and side hard into the tree wincing as a snap indicates a bone breaking. She slides into the moss and ferns, unable to right her body under the pain and pack’s weight. She rolls off her aching side to her stomach trying to catch her breath after the winding hit. She squirms as a heavy foot presses down on her femur trapping her under the monster. All her movement stops as she feels its maw press up against her spine at the back of her neck. She whimpers pathetically believing this to be her final moment.

 

The monster takes a deep sniff and the young woman shudders at the brush of his sharp teeth nicking her skin. “Oh dear child, you must be lost. Alone out here without your pack,” a gentle voice speaks inches from her neck. 

 

Her addled brain cannot process the juxtaposition of the creature’s vulgar appearance with his refined voice through her fear. She nods, deciding to play along with his game. He is already at a great advantage, knowing exactly who she is, when she knows nothing of the other werewolf.

 

The weight disappears from her leg and he hauls her carefully to her feet. She takes a moment to right herself before she can stand under her own power. Finally, she is able to look up into the face of her attacker. She recoils as she catches the dull grey eye and red eye watching her like prey. His mouth twists up into a horrific smile, expelling black slobber from the movement. The slime drips down like oil onto the undergrowth below. Cora can smell the flora immediately start decomposing in death. She shivers.

 

“A Hale, but not the Mr. Hale I am looking for. You do so smell alike. Come we shall look for him together, yes?” The wolf speaks as though it’s an invitation to tea, not a command upon her death.

 

“What do you want with Derek?” She bravely asks holding her side where her ribs cracked. She curses Derek’s carelessness. Anyone can find him with the trail he left.

 

“So it is Derek, then?” The old monster’s eyes gleam at the news, “Perfect.”

 

Cora feels she just made a mistake and sends out a silent apology to Derek, in case she does not live long enough to apologize in person.

 

“Tell this old man, did he mention lunar flowers by chance?” The monster watches the young woman and Cora’s silence enough of an answer. “Wonderful. Come along.”

 

She manages a nod and he turns without another word and walks in the direction she was headed.

 

She calculates that her injuries will require another twenty minutes to fully recover. If she can bide enough time to heal, she may have a chance to escape.

 

He halts in his stilted gait, as though he can read her mind and gives her a pressing stare. “Come my dear, time is the utmost importance we catch up to the happy couple.”

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Aiden watches Lydia from the passenger seat. He smells her frustration. Her strawberry hair wafts about in the wind from the open window.

 

“You don’t need to work. You should just stay with me. I’ll need protection when we head over to the Nemeton.” Lydia watches the road instead of looking over at the older boy.

 

“No Lydia, I already had Ethan ask his manager and they need the help. I need to be out there with him.” He repeats calmly. The argument is over and now it is just awkward in the car.

 

Lydia fumes at her boyfriend. The car slows to a police barricade. Apparently no civilian cars can travel past the outskirts of town on the highway. It is open to emergency cars only and contractors working to clear the road.

 

She smacks at the wheel. “Get out then if you’re leaving. You can walk the rest of the way. I need to get back to Morell.”

 

He hastily releases the belt and leans in to kiss her cheek. She holds up her hand to stop the advance. They share what feels like a final moment and turn away from each other. He climbs out of the car and slams the door. 

 

He can’t believe he walked away from a sure thing for this relationship. He watches her blue car race away. Less than half a week ago, he lived comfortably under a roof with his less than ideal pack. Things were spiraling out of control, but he still had structure. He didn’t need to worry about his life, his plans, his future. Deucalion did that for him. Now Deucalion is dead.

 

The bastard took everything away from the twins for power. He should hate the man, revel in the news of his death, but all he feels is the loss of a master. He craves for strict order in his life, to be under someone’s control. Lydia seemed to be the type of sadistic tyrant he craves; strong willed, smart, and rich. Instead he is finding out she is just a Podunk beauty queen that spends her father’s money and has to study for the SAT like any other highschooler. And Scott, the true alpha, will never be the overlord Deucalion was. Aiden doesn’t know how to stand behind that kind of leadership.

 

Ethan decided to grow a heart and mind of his own for a reason, all for that boy and all of it real, not like he and Lydia. He thought that’s what he should do too, since Aiden and his twin always move in constant sequence. Lydia seemed a convenient mirror to his brother’s lover. Just a couple days later, Aiden is now realizing this was Ethan’s first step and it was a step away from him. Aiden figures he just needs to stay close to his brother and things will be fine. As long as they stay together, they survive. Ethan’s punch in the clinic spoke volumes to how not fine things are between him. Cutting out Lydia, who honestly is a tiresome headache despite the awesome sex, should bring Ethan back to him.

 

He slinks pass the barrier, avoiding the police motioning to take identification from the various contractors and emergency crew before allowing their vehicles to pass. He hops back onto the highway from the irrigation channel and walks along the pavement’s shoulder to meet his brother’s crew and be by his brother’s side.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Press conference is about to begin. He sits sideways from the table, leaned over with his satellite phone pressing up to his ear as he holds his other hand over the opposite ear trying to block out the noise of the crowded room.

 

“Pick up, dammit!” He growls out to the endless ring, only to hear his exact words echo over the PA system. A couple flashes of a camera pick up the surprised look from the Sheriff as he hastily sits straight in his chair. A loud screech and subsequent feedback ring through the room from his chair scooting forward on the auditorium stage floor where the press center has been set up.

 

The PA picks up the ring for the animal clinic for two rings before the Sheriff can react in embarrassment. ‘Shit!’ The Sheriff ends the phone call. He glance sheepishly at the dozens of media reporters and his professional colleagues all staring at the interruption. He had missed the beginning of the live press conference in his inattention.

 

“Sorry folks. Parents and loved ones can understand this is the kind of day we all lose ourselves in our worry… We pray that our calls will go though.” He pauses and looks down to his phone and squeezes it. He chokes a little and leans into the microphone, “We can only just keep trying… until they pick up.” He looks out into the sympathetic crowd and quickly adds, “To those people, do not forget you are not alone in this tragedy, your community and the Beacon County officials stand with you. Be hopeful and have patience.” He motions to the mayor to begin where he was interrupted, but the cameras remain focused on the Sheriff of Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I know! Poor Sheriff better hear something soon. It seems like I am bashing on Lydia, but I make it up to her later. Aiden on the other hand... [shakes head]
> 
> All drug facts and its interactions medically come from the sodium thiopental wikipedia page. This is the drug the movies and media use to explain truth serum, this is probably inaccurate but hey it's fiction.
> 
> The digital work is based on actor's in Teen Wolf and the bodies are other models, really the men should be more hairy, but we know Peter's character would be vain enough to full body wax. Hehe
> 
> Back to the wolves in the next chapter


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets his drink and the wolves get their buffet. Stiles and Derek find out something disturbing about the lunar flower skin suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Multiple chapter update! Yeah! Always thank you for leaving comments, questions, kudos

Stiles wades into the frigid mountain stream and sighs in bliss. “Nom, nom, nom, water and sunlight.” He sings out to the woods and makes a splashy dance. The trees rustle their leaves in agreement to the dancing plant boy. The forest is stunned by the flower maiden’s free movement, recognizing the plant in him, but is joyful in his presence and that of his company. The message of a great wonder is passed across the valley because every meadow, stream bed, gully and hill they climb, the plants and animals come to greet the flower maiden and his wolves.

 

Scott watches the woods warily. What once appeared to be quiet and gloomy grove is now a vibrant with life. Chattering woodland creatures flock to Stiles like Snow White. The trees seem to silently sing to Stiles, given his dance like movements as they traverse the land. Really aren’t these creatures supposed to fear the greater predators lest they become dinner? Isaac and Allison certainly haven’t missed the opportunity. Allison has had three Thumpers, Isaac has snacked on Chip and Dale, and Derek took down Bambi for lunch and still they come to greet the pack. It’s like a buffet. Scott has abstained for now. Uncomfortable with his wolf nature, even though he is no longer human, he still thinks like one. A grumble chortles loudly in his wolf belly and he catches himself eyeing down Bambi’s girlfriend as an answer.

 

“Scott,” Isaac whines in a cute puppy manner. “I am hungry!”

 

A hungry pack member is enough to get him over his morals and sprinting off to sink his teeth into the deer’s neck. Scott takes one second to apologize to the doe, before he crushes his jaw through her arteries killing her quickly. Her lifeblood melts away any conniption about his meal choice and he is tearing into the deer. He eats merrily watching Allison and Isaac wait patiently for their turn. Allison snarls down at Isaac, who moves to eat before her and the pup quickly submits.

 

Derek sedately watches the three’s wolf dynamics. He is still full from the young buck he ate earlier. ‘Finally,’ he thinks as he watches Scott embrace his role as alpha and wolf. Scott’s nurturing nature overrules his love for all animals and life. Isaac’s transformation into a helpless runt is a lifesaver in that regard.

 

Surprisingly, Stiles makes no fuss over his friends’ meal choice. No comment whatsoever. Derek would think something is wrong, but Stiles simply looks fondly at the snacking wolves. Perhaps someone, other than just Scott, is learning to embrace the roles they were cast in this epic orchestrated by the fates for their amusement.

 

Stiles hops out of the stream and glides across the water, skipping rock to rock with grace Derek has never seen in a Stilinski before. Stiles splashes back into the water and gives a dip with his hips as he watches the white wolf saunter along after the hyperactive flower maiden. Stiles runs his hands down the now transparent moon colored suit. Water drips off his lean muscles and Stiles gives a teasing wink at the wolf. Derek for his part enjoys the show, but keeps looking around in embarrassment at Stiles’ outrageous behavior.

 

Scott scoffs at Derek for being shy everyone is pack and friends here. Who’s going to judge, the trees and forest creatures? It’s not like Stiles hasn’t overshared with any of them before. It rarely fazes Scott anymore to hear the most random thoughts bypass Styles brain to mouth filter. And ever since Stiles hit puberty, he is like a walking censor bar; only it’s faulty. People miss why Stiles says the things he does, and only hear the black bar moments, leaving Stiles misunderstood and lonely. Hell Scott doesn’t get Stiles all the time he just never ostracized the boy for being different. His friend’s world is like a kaleidoscope. People see a flower, but Stiles grows bored with the flower and pulls out the toy. He sees infinite patterns and colors, plays through them all just to see, and then completely forget he was looking at a flower. But where the real genius comes in is Stiles’ ability to pull the abstract concepts into functional ideas. He is a master strategist for this reason. But it’s hard to see the brains in that transparent monstrosity; poor Stiles.

 

“The trees are rejoicing to see you furry lot. They say it’s been centuries,” Stiles smiles at the old growth Coulter pine he has placed his hand against. The pine merrily sways, dislodging birds and squirrels in the movement. Huge pine cones rain down on the parade causing the wolves to scatter. Derek leans protectively over Stiles blocking the prickly bombs. “Oops,” Stiles just looks giddily up at the wolf, while his hands wind through his chest fur.

 

Stiles ministrations unwind the uptight wolf and he flops down on top of his mate. “Mine” he growls and scents under the teenager’s chin. He huffs warm air into Stiles ear, a newly discovered erogenous zone.

 

“Derek,” Stiles moans arching up to the solid weight pinning him. A memory tickles Stiles’ brain of being pressed down against his will and grows until it becomes a full on trigger. The boy squirms.

 

Derek feels his mate is no longer squirming in pleasure, but terror and quickly rolls off the boy so he can sit. Stiles breathes in the safe feeling Derek pushes through the bond. The wolf allows the sopping wet boy to crawl on top of him. Arms wrap around Derek’s neck and Stiles mimics a wolf nuzzle along Derek’s cheek and throat. Derek returns the gesture, lightly pressing his cold wet nose to the boy’s nose. “It will be alright Stiles.”

 

Stiles pulls himself away to look into Derek’s wolf eyes. They are a vibrant blue color that softens as the wolf returns his mate’s searching gaze. No longer does the teenager feel the distance he once knew when looking into Derek’s imposing eyes. “Okay,” Stiles says simply to the wolf’s promise and it’s enough.

 

Derek lies back and naps in the afternoon light, now he knows his mate is fine. He hasn’t rested since before Cora got sick with mistletoe poisoning and the sun feels so good- “Cora!” Derek yells in alarm. He forgot he left her stuck in the car. ‘Shit what kind of brother am I.’

 

“Derek is Cora alright?”

 

“I don’t know.” He crouches down and buries his face in Stiles armpit. His flower maiden calms him.  “I just left her in the camaro. The car fell into the sinkhole on the interstate; she could still be stuck or worse. She called after me, but I didn’t stop. I had to get to you. All those memories, I knew I had to be with you and know that you were safe.”

 

“Memories… You seem to know a lot about this flower maiden crap, beyond the mate stuff. Why?” Stiles mind is working in overdrive. Derek was not shocked by Stiles physical changes, the circumstances of finding him stuck in a tree, hell, he even knew how Stiles magic worked to heal wolves. It’s like he had experienced the healing before.

 

“I um... may-have-been-having-visions-of-a-past-life.” Derek runs through the explanation so quick, it takes a moment for the others to understand.

 

“Past Life? I’d call you bonkers, but I am suddenly a wolf and Stiles’ hair is violet and trees talk to him, so were living a little off the sanity scale.” Isaac jokes.

 

“Oh, so there was another flower maiden before me?” Stiles gives Derek the stink eye in jealousy. “You love him and leave him to wilt too?” Stiles asks sharply as his breath hitches in sadness. Stiles remembers the tomb tree of flower maidens all withered and petrified. How many times have innocent people played the pawns for the gods?

 

Derek looks incredibly hurt by Stiles words. The other wolves scramble over each other to give the couple their space to talk.

 

Stiles regrets his jealous outburst. He is usually more composed and capable of processing new information objectively, before he gets so emotional. He is overcome with guilt. When he feels the bond shrink back from Derek, he panics. “Don’t leave me Derek,” Stiles cries and locks Derek in a hug. “I am sorry, I don’t understand and I just reacted. You are mine!” Stiles growls and Derek’s wolf preens at the boys statement. “But are you mine because you are goddess’ chosen wolf and I am the current flower maiden or do you actually like me for me?” Stiles words are as soft as the breeze.

 

Derek can barely hear them muffled so in his thick white coat. “That life… it means nothing to me. All the memories are of another’s love, not mine. His experiences have helped me prepare to meet Paradise successfully and to protect you from a lunar flower’s fate. Deaton,” the boy shivers at the name, “he helped me, I guess internalize and accept the memories as real.” Stiles stills. He makes no comment and waits for Derek to continue. “I, well, I fell in love with you before I knew anything of this,” he gestures to Stiles’ moon colored body suit and gold necklace. “I thought you needed time to mature. You needed to make your own decisions. I would never force you into this mate bond without consent. I never gave up hope for us, even when you never called me!” Derek’s magic illusion makes him appear human. He is clothed in his patent leather jacket, grey Henley and jeans. He pulls the distraught boy into his lap and kisses his forehead.

 

“Oh Derek,” Stiles kisses Derek’s neck as tears track down his cheeks, soaking the grey shirt. He wads the material tight in his fists and gives a heaving sigh of relief. “Derek, I love you.” He gathers the shirt to his face and blows his nose.

 

Derek growls out at the disgusting snot soaking through his shirt. Its wetness is clammy against his flat chest. He pulls the tight shirt away with a grimace. “You’re lucky this is just magic.” He wills it clean and a dry shirt replaces the old. “And I love you, too.” He bends the boy’s neck back to fit his mouth over his pink lips and kisses the boy deeply. His tongue fights for dominance as their kiss grows more heated.

 

Stiles doesn’t have much experience, but he is good at reading the feelings the man allows to slip over the bond. He feels Derek’s thrill at Stiles biting his lower lip as he pulls back, he does it again. Stiles pays attention to the way Derek shifts forward when Stiles thrusts his tongue into Derek’s mouth and rolls it sideways stroking the older man’s all the way down to the root. He’ll be sure to use that trick again.

 

“Stiles,” Derek praises his name.

 

“Muh,” Stiles pulls himself closer to the man to rub himself torturously on Derek’s jean clad semi. Derek rubs his hands down Stiles sides to cup him and stroke him through the skin suit’s thin fabric.

 

“Stiles, I need...” Derek’s gruff voice moans out.

 

“And oh how Stiles wants,” Stiles groans huskily as he moves to help unbutton his jeans for the man. His hand sliding over his own hardness as he blindly reaches for the clasp. His lust addled brain blinking at confusion when he can’t find a zipper or button.

 

“What?” He fumbles and stops pulling away from Derek to look down at himself. Then it hits him he is wearing a ridiculous skin suit, not his jeans.

 

“Derek,” he turns his back to the man, “un-zip me!” The man rubs at his back then stills and manhandles Stiles to various positions, in his search to unclothe Stiles. His confusion grows into frustration at the lack of any discernible way to open the suit.

 

“What? Why?” He growls and explains to his confused mate, “There is no zipper.”

 

Stiles takes a second to pull away from nibbling Derek’s neck, “Then use your wolfy strength and rip it, macho man.”

 

Derek eye twitches at being called a macho man and grasps the material and pulls with a fury. He frowns when he doesn’t hear the fabric tearing. He tugs harder and meets the same results.

 

“Come on Derek,” Stiles snaps his hips forward into Derek’s cock. Derek’s eyes roll in bliss and he arches into the boy’s thrusts. He pants laboriously. “Just a minute, this isn’t working,” He drops his human appearance into his wolf form.

 

Stiles flushed face sheds his bliss to one of shock at the determined look in the wolf’s ice blue eyes and he gulps in fear. Sharp teeth come rushing at Stiles, too close to his genitals for the boy’s comfort. The wolf catches the material and pulls. No puncture and no tearing. He gives the stubborn suit a death shake meant to snap vertebra, not undress mates. There is no damage and Derek is horny and frustrated.

 

Stiles gives a loud squeak at the rough treatment as gleam in Derek’s eye narrows and now he’s serious. This is war to divest Stiles of the deity’s cock-block material.

 

Meanwhile, Scott and the rest of the pack see the assault from the sunny spot they chose to relax in and give the heated lovers some space. Scott freaks at the biting and snapping. The alpha comes rushing over to stop the white wolf from killing his friend.

 

“What the hell?” Scott screams at the wolf. Stiles has a permanent look of shock and frustration on his face as his mate laboriously bites and claws trying to shred the impenetrable material. The white wolf is clearly not hurting Stiles, but the dangerous teeth and claws are too close for comfort. The alpha moves to attack the white wolf, who is clearly lost in his determination to divulge Stiles of his cover.

 

“Oh my god! Derek stop.” Scott screams at the wolf.

 

“No don’t stop, get this thing off me,” Stiles screams.

 

Soon all four wolves are panting for breath, with no results to show. Watching four wolves attempt to shred into your own skin, it is no wonder Stiles lost his erection and suggests the thing he say next. “We could try fire.” He is met with disbelieving stares. He really didn’t want to flambé himself either.

 

“Owe my teeth, that shit is tougher than kevlar.” Isaac whimpers out.

 

“My nails are completely dull,” Allison looks at her paws revealing short nubs where they were once sharp. “Guess that thing isn’t meant to come off.”

 

“I’m going to die of blue balls,” Stiles cries; then the flower maiden thinks about it. “Oh my goddess! That is what happened to all the other lunar flowers that failed, they withered and shriveled from aching balls!”

 

“Enough, Stiles.” Derek’s human form rests across Stiles’ lap, “there is no such thing as blue balls.”

 

“Really?” Stiles snarks, “then you tell me smarty, why would they wither?”

 

“Well for one they were flowers maidens and they don’t have balls.” Derek says.

 

Everyone looks down to Stiles crotch; he moves his hand to cover himself. “Stop looking at my nuts!”

 

“Touchy,” Isaac snarks.

 

“You would be too if a squirrel wanted to take them and everyone keeps going on about my boys,” Stiles acidly replies.

 

“Huh?” Derek is lost.

 

Scott asks Stiles fearfully, “A pint sized glowing green squirrel?”

 

“Totally,” He gives his buddy a serious looks and smiles. “See Scott understands my pain,” Stiles says turning to Derek.

 

“I wonder if he has a stamen and a pistil. Maybe he can self pollinate.” Allison is still looking at his crotch unashamedly.

 

“Excuse me,” Stiles snaps his finger in front of the brown wolf’s nose and growls, “I think I would know if my lonely boys were no longer the same. My dick included. Now leave it.”

 

“He should know with how much time he spends in their company.” Isaac chuckles at the blushing boy. Everyone else glares at Isaac for his crass comment. “What, werewolf nose? We all know Stiles not so secret habits.”

 

“Ewe, can we not talk about the ‘M’ thing.” Allison whines.

 

“Please we are teenage boys. What do you expect, little miss hypocrite? Don’t think we can’t smell you’ve been to your happy place.” Isaac grins at Allison, whose embarrassment is shifting into rage.

 

“Puppies shouldn’t talk about adult things.” She allows her eyes to travel over the runt.

 

“I am not a puppy!” He slams into the brown wolf furiously. In less than three seconds, the little tyke is on his back with Allison’s teeth holding his entire head in her mouth.

 

“Enough Allison,” Scott huffs at his bickering pack.

 

“Stiles, a tree flowers to produce seeds, right?” At Stiles nod, Derek continues, “They shed their pollen by wind or insect and then wither and fall off.”

 

“Oh nononono. So if I blow my load i.e. my pollen, I’ll start withering? But if I don’t “pollinate” then I’ll still shrivel and die without fertilizing anything, I am a teenager I can’t abstain from my ‘Stiles time’. I have a busy schedule to keep.” Stiles cries dramatically, “I can’t hold it forever, I’ll explode.”

 

“Easy there, we need to get to Paradise, so I can fix this. Without you, there is no Paradise. I will find a way to make you human again.” Derek rumbles as he shakes the boy with each promise to illustrate his seriousness and then slams his mouth to the rattled boy’s lips to seal it.

 

“Vomiting in my mouth now,” Isaac chokes on the fluffiness of the couple.

 

Derek answers mid-kiss, “The peanut gallery can leave now or I might reconsider you staying as a wolf puppy.”

 

Isaac bursts away like lightning.

 

Allison gives a disappointed sound as Scott pushes her away from the snuggling couple. “What I can’t be a fangirl and stay to cheer on two guys?” She pauses to rake her gaze over her alpha, “Actually I don’t have to fantasize. When we get to Paradise and Derek fixes things so we can be together, I expect some butt sex from my boys.” She bites playfully at Scotts hind legs and shuffles off to play in the meadow with Isaac.

 

Stiles shakes his head at his friends and settles back into Derek’s lap with his back to Derek’s chest. They rest in silence enjoying the sun and thinking about other things than his balls. “So you were in the earthquake?”

 

“Well technically Stiles I was already unconscious… Cora slammed my head into the car window, though I did scare her by turning into a wolf so suddenly. I woke up and the car was dark. Cora was alive, but she was passed out. I realized we were trapped, so I just started scratching and chewing my way out so I could come get you out of the tree. I...” Derek remembers back to the rocking car and his distressed encounter with the Sheriff. “Your dad,” Derek looks over at Stiles.

 

Stiles freaks at his words. He babbles out, “My dad? My dad was there at the disaster? Is he okay? He is alive, right?”

 

Stiles is close to hyperventilating at the thought his father was anywhere near a sinkhole. He was safe in Beacon Hills, right?

 

“Easy Stiles,” Derek is petting Stiles to relax the boy. “He is fine. I checked on my way out of the hole. He had fallen, only a few feet to a car from the edge. Nothing broken and the firemen were right there to rescue him. They probably pulled out Cora.” He adds hopefully. “He was more freaked a wolf jumped out of nowhere, he actually asked me, ‘Why is this my life?’”

 

Stiles sighs in relief at the news and leans into Derek, “I thought I was the only one that got to pet healing magic.” Derek just chuckles and continues rubbing his mate’s back.

 

“Just how far did you have to run?” Stiles asks trailing his finger gently up and down Derek’s arm.

 

“From the Grian Lake exit.” Derek says.

 

Scott must have been close enough to overhear because he lops over to the couple and flops down in the grass.

 

“The earthquake is that widespread? Shit, I thought Deaton just made it to get Peter out of the way and distract us, so he could get Derek…” Scott stops as he watches Stiles face harden. Hate should never be a smell coming from the flower maiden. All the wolves whine at the change in smell.

 

“Deaton’s responsible for that too?” Stiles asks harshly, pulling his knees to his body. He sits there and tries to process the series of events that has so greatly impacted all his friend’s lives. He needs a plan. He can’t just wander the woods and play Snow White. He needs to figure out this Paradise thing, so time doesn’t just turn him into a wrinkled willow tree. If he and Derek can’t open Paradise, the world will end. He curses Peter for getting him and his friends into this mess.

 

“Why is this my life?” Stiles mumbles.

 

…

 

A short time later the group is walking aimlessly toward the mountain foothills, when Scott notices the delicate beads of moisture gleaming in the afternoon light on his best friend’s skin.

 

“Stiles why are you covered in dew?” Scott asks concerned, thinking Stiles is sweating from the hiking and needs water or to rest.

 

“I am dewing, so leave me alone,” Stiles shushes his friend in embarrassment, for as much good as that does because now they have the entire pack’s attention.

 

“You mean your… ewe, _dew_ that somewhere private.” Scott laughs at his stupid joke.

 

“It’s not like I can control it! I am working with a different system here, dude,” Stiles stammers out angrily. Why was this wolf his friend again?

 

“What I don’t get it?” Isaac whines at what must be an inside joke between the friends.

 

Derek is just as clueless as Isaac, but concerned that his mate is in need of comfort, gives Stiles a reassuring kiss on his elbow, adoring the floral taste of his mate.

 

“Dude gross!” Scott stammers out, Stiles looks shocked and Allison is laughing at the white wolf just standing there smacking his wolf chops.

 

“Actually Scott, the droplets are xylem sap not dew. Some vascular plants when their stomata are closed have to excrete waste in the process of guttation. Stiles simply took in too much water. He has no roots and there is no way that suit is coming off, so the flower maiden hybrid must have developed this process to push his waste out of his skin. We just covered botany in AP Biology.” Allison adds, as if talking about Stiles using his skin as a bathroom would not be embarrassing to Stiles. He is beet red at this point.

 

“Aren’t you pure, blessed flower maiden, your excrement actually smells like flowers,” Isaac laughs.

 

Derek’s wolf face cringes and he spits on the ground and everyone laughs, except Stiles. He punches hard into the wolf’s thick skull and then Scott’s. He storms on ahead mumbling and growling about getting better friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -The Guttation thing came out of nowhere, I think I kinda practice googlefu like Stiles, I always find the most random things. Dewing like pooing is funny… okay, not really but it’s late and poor stiles is stuck in that moon figure skating thing, so how else can he dew ;)  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guttation
> 
> -kind of a filler chapter, but the next few are all action I promise


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a multiple chapter update, so just a heads up, you may have missed a chapter.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Abuse, non-con drugging, conspiring to kill people, car accident, Cora is still captive

(Mid-Morning, Animal Clinic)

 

Ms. Morell won't wait for the feisty red head or the others. Deaton is in trouble. Courtesy Lydia’s vision she knows Deaton is at least at knocking on the Greenman’s door.

 

She finishes the circle and focuses her magic. A gentle hum stirs through the air and a crackle of black sparks ionizes the air. Her location spell reveals his position, not his state of health. She flies out of the examination room to her silver jeep, not bothering to ward the broken door. If Deaton’s precious clinic remains intact from looters she’ll be amazed. All that codeine for recreational addicts available for the taking, but that’s not her problem and it is probably covered by insurance. She races out of the parking lot, just as the clinic’s phone line begins to ring.

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

(FBI safe ~~house~~ cabin, Beacon Hills Preserve, early afternoon)

 

Chris’ eyes move erratically. The bloody and bruised man looks like he can no longer focus past his nose. His eyes roll back in his head to pass out, but Jacobs puts the salts under Chris’ nose to keep him awake.

 

“What kind of medic are you?” McCall screams at the agent. Jacobs flinches at the tone of the commanding agent and quickly withdraws from his position in front of the detainee. ‘At least the incompetent fool knows his place,’ McCall scoffs mentally at the bastard who is only a few years older than his son. ‘This is the Agency’s brightest rookie. Yeah right, probably blew the right people to get the position. The damn fool almost killed my prize dosing him up again.’

 

McCall is so close to just emptying his clip into the team now rather than later, but he needs their deaths to happen outside in the woods for his plan to work. Chris Argent will be personally shot by Agent McCall. After all, most of this insufferable darach mess could have been properly handled by the hunters. He is here to cover up this cluster-fuck of supernatural crime and insure the law gets the evidence it needs to explain the crimes to the unaware public. If it were not for Chris Argent blocking his own community from covering things up properly, then the Druid Council and Sentinels would never have been involved, save for the small extraction of one little Spark. Agent McCall was surprised that his son’s best friend was even worthy of the Council’s time. The little bitch, Stiles Stilinski, always had an insufferable mouth on him and in no way matches the usual recruits his master desires, complacent and quiet.

 

Perhaps it is fortunate that the High Druid Deaton claimed Stiles under his protection when McCall tried to question Stiles in the school the other day. McCall planned on that day for the extraction, Stiles by now would have been in a small hut in Wales, but Deaton bound the little shit to him in that simple statement subverting the Council’s plans. He further ensured the Spark would remain in Beacon Hills by tying the teenager to the Nemeton as a surrogate sacrifice. Now if the Council desires their Spark they’ll have to deal with the tree, Deaton, and the other guardians; Allison Argent, heiress to the hunter organization, and Scott McCall, true alpha werewolf. Agent McCall laughs at the thought of his pathetic son trying to protect the boy from his Sentinel forces. He, being their commander, would have no qualms forcing his son to submit below him or die.

 

If his master can sway the Council to his favor, then the thorn that is Deaton and recently his sister, Morrell, will fall to ruin beautifully in his plan, in addition to the entire hunter organization. The Druid’s guardians, the Sentinels, will take over the role that the corrupted hunters played for centuries. Small inefficient hunter units would be replaced with armies and the Council will rule the world as a unified front. The Sentinels will be the Council’s tool to police the supernatural and he will be the commander.

 

First though, he needs to clean up this supernatural mess, at the same time implicating the Argent family, so the FBI can clean out the rest of rats in the nest. The hunter world doesn’t know it yet, but the Argents will be implicating every last cell. To do that McCall needs Chris to die. The tragic story will involve his team tracking the Argents to their safe location in the preserve. Chris will be shot, while covering Gerard’s escape. Gerard Argent will have to remain at large because Agent McCall could not track the slippery bastard after his escape from the hospital. Initially, the investigators will focus on their search on locating the at large suspect, more than the tragic two dead agents (his team will die in the crossfire) and dead suspect, giving McCall time to plant the evidence to take out the Argent family, Deaton, and Sheriff.

 

The fake evidence will reveal an illicit gun ring run by the Argent family. Further investigation will connect the series of murders his FBI team was initially charged to investigate, back to a turf war between Hale crime family and the Argents. Deaton and his sister will be implicated as consiglieres to the boss Peter Hale and underboss Derek Hale. The Sheriff will be charged as an accomplice to the murders for his destruction of critical evidence and lying to federal agents. Stiles as a minor and no longer under Deaton’s or his father’s care, will fall under the protection of the state. For which Agent McCall will apply and be granted guardianship. The little Spark will be awarded a coveted scholarship to a boarding school across the ocean away from all the difficulties. As long as McCall gets control of the young Spark, the Council will be pleased.

 

Of course his FBI teammates have no idea about the supernatural. Well until the greatest hunter family’s scion started blabbing his head off about werewolves and hunters under the serum’s influence. Luckily his team believes Argent to be somehow combating the drug and lying or just utterly deranged. A second dose was administered, ever so helpfully by Jacobs, while McCall stepped out to smoke moments ago. Now he’ll have no chance of covering up Chris Argent’s autopsy report with so much of the barbiturate in the man’s body. He is forced to extend this mission by thirty-six hours for the drug to run its course and side effects to dissipate, before he can stage the all their murders. How he will keep his FBI and Council superiors off his back for that time period he has no idea. Assuming Chris Argent doesn’t die from his complications and Gerard Argent is not discovered in the time, McCall may manage to pull this off.

 

“Leave the room and take a break.” McCall instructs the other two agents. The quiet one, Williams, just leaves without comment.

 

“McCall, sir,” Jacobs, the underling that has questioned his superior’s actions all day speaks up, “If we come back in this room and find that you have deliberately compromised this man’s health further, I will take this up with the boss.”

 

McCall rubs his temples and turns to the agent and puts on a charming look, “Nothing of the sort will occur, Agent Jacobs. Help me move him to the bed and he may recover faster if he is more comfortable. The sooner we get the answers, the faster the boss man will let us continue on the paperwork. I know how you prefer the paperwork to the less pleasant parts of this job. I understand it is not easy, Jacobs.” McCall uses his name kindly in hopes that the agent will excuse his earlier unpleasant and unprofessional manner.

 

Of course Jacobs eats it up and moves to help him unbind the prisoner.

 

Chris groans and slumps into Jacobs arms. Chris is too disoriented to resist the agents as they transport him to the flat surface. A clasp of metal secures the cuffs around his wrists to the metal bed frame anchoring him to the bed. McCall leaves his feet bound, but untethered. Not that Chris thinks he can get vertical on his own anytime soon.

 

“Sir I feel as the medic on this team, it would be remiss of me to leave a volatile detainee in your unqualified hands.” McCall raises an eyebrow at the cockiness in the younger man’s tone, after all the medic is mostly to blame for the hunter’s poor state. Chris really didn’t need much pain as an incentive to start singing, though his hunter babble was far from the tune McCall had hoped. He really wanted an outlet for all this pent up frustration and thought the hunter better trained to keep his lips sealed.

 

McCall says nothing about Jacobs’ error and the young agent continues, ”I apologize for not consulting you, Sir. I thought you needed answers. So I just acted. I was unaware of the compounding toxins from the alcohol in his system with the first dose; I thought he was nauseated by the drug or the minor concussion. I had no idea a second dose would send him downhill so fast.”

 

The little bastard doesn’t seem to see the point that he did not seek McCall’s consent to drug the man a second time as an issue. “Don’t forget you acted without orders, rookie.” McCall dresses down the punk. “This will unfortunately be written up. See that you seek the approval of a superior next time, if there is a next time. If he dies I’ll be sure to have your head.” McCall will have Jacobs’ and Argent’s heads regardless.

 

The squeaky mouse is back, when Jacob pours out one apology after the next to save his job. McCall has no sympathy, but he needs to play the hero commander a little while longer.

 

“It’s alright, Jacobs. We are all frustrated with the lack of results in this case. You stay, Williams will be on the door and I will return in a sort while. Keep him restrained and call if anything happens, Ill be working at the Sheriff station on the statements and pick us up some dinner.” McCall is furious, but he doesn’t let it show. He reminds himself he cannot make a move for at least twenty-four hours anyway due the drug in the hunter’s system. “Do not continue the interrogation, until I return.”

 

He watches the hunter moan and gurgle out a string of unintelligible words that sound like a french man being water boarded. He’d never get anything that would be admissible in court from the man at this point. Not that it matters. All evidence of this unpleasantness will be erased and new statements improvised depending on the circumstances in two days time.

 

“Keep you vigilance, Agent Jacobs. Switch off with Williams, when his condition improves.” He turns and leaves, but adds last minute. “Do not disappoint me again.”

 

“Yes, Sir. “ The properly admonished reply comes and McCall leaves the room of the small cabin nodding to Williams on his way out. His black SUV furiously spinning out on the dirt road as he speeds through Beacon Hill Preserve toward town.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

(Beacon Hills Preserve access road, early afternoon)

 

Morell bounces in the seat of her Rubicon Jeep nearly knocking herself stupid, as she speeds dangerously along the rocky road. She is about two miles in from the highway exit to the county road that borders the preserve. She has another seven miles to drive before the road ends. From there she can only travel by foot to reach Deaton’s location.

 

She had to use her magic against the deputy blocking traffic on the highway out of Beacon Hills to allow her to pass. A little disoriented the woman waved her through and reminded her to beware of buckling in the pavement. The further she drives from Beacon Hill toward the Grian Lake area, she witnesses the tragedy Deaton’s earthquake has caused. The goddess’ toll was great. Deaton was merely the tool of the goddess to demand balance. She feels a deep pain in her soul to know her brother must shoulder this burden. She empathizes with the druid and the victims.

 

She almost ran down a man walking on the highway’s shoulder at the outrageous speed she traveled. An angry red glow in her rearview mirror thankfully revealed the victim of the near hit-and-run, as a young alpha. It was either Aiden or Ethan by the quick glimpse of his face, before he disappeared from sight behind her. Who could tell them apart going 90 miles per hour on a road built to travel at a safe speed of 55 mph.

 

She watches the side of the road as the jeep makes another leap and rocky landing stressing the suspension. She feels something in the woods and she slows the straining vehicle. Years of training and her unique magical sensitivity have honed her instinct. She watches warily. This presence is dark and twisted. She keeps the Jeep steady and pushes the speed when she feels the darkness focus back at her. She hits the pedal and spins the tires out in the dirt. While the tires are slipping, she manages to catch the silhouette of a large werewolf with a glowing red eye peering at her from the edge of the woods.

 

The tires finally grip and she lurches forward and gets the hell out of there. The werewolf makes no move to chase the druid and she breathes out a frightened breath. Never in her years as a high druid has she felt such unnaturalness in the world. She shudders and keeps her vigilance as she speeds towards Deaton reminding herself of the great dangers that lurk this unstable ley line.

 

She screeches to a stop as darting figure breaks through the treeline to the right side of the car. Rocks clink the metal of the jeeps underbelly. Her dusty trail floats about the still vehicle impeding her sight, but she manages to catch the trotting figure of a real wolf, a gray wolf in Beacon Hills. She chuckles in her amazement, that through all her life as a steward of nature and the supernatural she has never seen a real _canis lupus_ in the wild.

 

She smiles as she watches the lone wolf loping across the road in front of her, giving her jeep a wide berth. It hesitates in its gait as the wolf’s ears prick up and turn sharply at a sound from further up the dirt road. The wolf breaks his wary stare of Morell’s jeep, to snap its head around to match the direction of his ears. Its strong muscles tense in preparation, its thick grey tail lifting in alarm, before the wolf is airborne in a leap to get off the road. It clears a twelve foot span to land in the thick underbrush before darting off into the dark woods. Morell only has moment to glimpse at the source that sent the wolf running, before the black SUV barrels into her jeep headon.  

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Cora Hale shudders, as the clawed hand holding her flush to the tree and out of sight, scratches her soft belly through the Sheriff’s fleece. The vehicle passes and the older werewolf removes his restraining hand.

 

“Interesting’” He mumbles. “Come my dear, the afternoon light is a perfect time for a stroll.”

 

She doesn’t dare respond she merely follows the monster like a sacrificial goat on a rope. She can feel his murderous intentions, but he remains passive towards her for now. Even when her pathetic escape attempt failed and he caught her after a short minute at a dead sprint, he only roared fiercely in her face to force her submission and told her to move along. He could have hurt her or bound her, but he does not need to. He holds the greatest weapon, her absolute fear of him. Cora is terrified of this wereman. She continues trekking on after the hulk as they follow Derek, Stiles, and the others’ trail heading deep into the mountains.

 

No one was present at the Nemeton over two hours ago. The beautiful giant white oak’s appearance in no way matches her imagination of a blackened stump Derek had described, when he retold the events of the lunar eclipse. The hideous werewolf enviously called out to the tree saying the years have been kind to the tree. It was as though he had been there before and passing the afternoon with idle talk with an old friend. Clearly the werewolf was nuts, speaking to the tree, but she wisely kept her mouth shut. They stayed only a moment to catch the trail and continued on.

 

The only good about her captive, was his generosity to allow her to keep her backpack. She asked to take a break to eat and drink and he simply waited as though it was a picnic date in the woods. She was prompt and silent, but sneaky. She managed to tuck the personal locating beacon the Sheriff had handed her, into the pocket of the black fleece. She really hoped that the werewolf didn’t smell the hope wafting off her as she holds the device tight in her grip hidden in the jacket pocket. She hasn’t formed a solid plan on how best to use it yet. There is no way the kind Sheriff could handle this monster on his own. She needs Scott or another alpha to help her now. Hopefully the Sheriff programed the teen’s number in, so she can warn him of the danger following on his trail.

 

A sudden screech of brakes stops the two in their steps. The older werewolf listens intently to the strained vehicle. It is quiet for a moment. Then Cora hears the roaring engine of another larger vehicle traveling at high speed. A horrible crunching noise hurts her sensitive ears, as the two vehicles meet. She sighs in relief when she hears heartbeats from both vehicles after the impact. She has seen enough death today.

 

“Too bad. She lives.” The monster rumbles out the remark, as though it’s as foul tasting as the black spit he hacks to the ground. “Sometimes the fates are so cruel.”

 

Cora would nod enthusiastically given her unfortunate luck at her present company, but she simply stares in the direction of the accident, she smells something familiar. Peter, but not the Peter she knows.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New pack kids!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Injury to a child, mention of death, traumatic situation for children

Chapter Ten

 

(Grian Lake Middle/High School, triage tent, early afternoon)

 

Melissa left hand hurts from allowing the child to hold it, while the doctor worked to extract the glass and metal pieces from his back. Who knew a human nine-year-old could grip so hard. She can’t blame the child. Today he has watched his parent bleed out from a gut wound. The man was impaled by a falling beam as the overpass collapsed on the interstate. All three children were buckled safely in the back seat of the sedan when rescuers arrived to extract them. The youngest sibling, untouched by the debris in her carseat, was handed off to a Red Cross volunteer to look after. While the middle child only, six, stands dutifully at her brother’s side clinging to his uninjured arm.

 

She is also scratch free due to her condition. Her eyes flash gold, whenever the nurses try to convince her to let go. Thankfully the frantic nurses hadn’t noticed the oddity. The medical staff is too busy in the triage tent to bother with a terrified child throwing a tantrum. They had tried to pick her up, but her solid grip on her brother, wrenched his injuries and caused hysteria.

 

The little girl kept screaming about following daddy’s orders. Melissa, as head nurse, told them to leave her be, crouched down and simply told the child to do that, but stay quiet. The child promptly shut up and stood stiffly in vigil, as her older brother was looked at.

 

Put off at Melissa’s curt demeanor and ease in which she handle the situation, the other nurses gab loudly behind her back about her indifference at allowing a child so young to watch such a graphic surgery. Melissa simply blocks out their spite and focuses on her job. Ignoring the petty nurses only seems to enrage them further. She would never put up with that kind of attitude in her unit at Beacon Hills Hospital. She has never worked with these people before and will have to for the rest of the emergency, so she stomps on the instinct to go ‘full sass on their asses’ and puts up with it. Until she doesn’t have to because the livid doctor flat out dismisses the unprofessional women and tells them they will be written up. Melissa doesn’t smirk under her mask.

 

When the doctor is finished with the sutures and taping the gauze pads with Melissa’s help, she gives the nurse a smile and tells her she was a great ally in the makeshift operating room and how she wishes she could have her clear head on her team everyday. Melissa smiles genuinely and wishes the doctor strength to get through the hours ahead and the surgeon leaves the room.

Melissa turns to the nine year old, who groggily lifts his head to kiss his sisters cheek, “You’ll be alright sweetie.”

 

He was given medicine to induce local analgesia for the glass shards and cuts on his back from shielding his toddler sister in her car seat. Despite his drowsiness, he opens his soft brown eyes and whispers, “Daddy is dead.”

 

His sister turns into Melissa and starts balling her eyes out. Her little hands growing small claws and slicing through her brightly patterned nurse scrubs.

 

“Easy there tiger or I guess I should say wolf,” Melissa curls the dangerous small hand away from her body, but keeps hold of it in her hand trying to comfort her.

 

The little girl looks shocked like she just blurted out a secret that Melissa shouldn’t know. Which, she really did, she just revealed her werewolf traits, instead of verbally admitting her secret. The little girl starts to cry harder in fear of the woman knowing about her special hidden powers her parents told her never to show outside of the house.

 

Her brother blinks wide eyes at his sister’s transformed hands and bright yellow peepers and he begins to scramble off the gurney to protect his sister.

 

“Honey its okay, I know all about what your sister is and I won’t tell.” Melissa gently holds the boy still so he won’t tear his sutures.

 

“But, Daddy said the only humans that know are dangerous. That they are hunters!” A hitching cry falls out of the six year olds mouth at her brother’s words.

 

Melissa’s brain is in overdrive trying to figure a way to calm the children, before she or the boy gets hurt. She watches the door to the makeshift operating room cautiously anyone can step through at any moment to prep the room for the next surgery. She carefully presses the boy to the cot with a firm grip and says, “Stay still. I can prove I mean you two no harm,” She speaks softly to the young boy.

 

She drops down to the six year old’s height and leans in. The six year old tries to slash at her, but thankfully the nurse catches her small wrists before she can cause damage. Melissa holds the small hands firmly and looks the frantic child in the eye. “Scent me carefully. You will smell my son, Scott; he is a werewolf and an alpha.”

 

The child stops crying and sniffles, but cautiously leans forward to smell the woman. Melissa knows below her sweat and own scent, there is the smell of her son the alpha.

 

The child takes a few long pulls to smell the woman. ‘She probably is having a hard time smelling over the disinfectants and number of people I’ve touched today,’ Melissa thinks waiting patiently for the child to finish. At last the girl nods to the woman, fear leaving her system, but not all the suspicion is gone given the narrowing yellow eyes.

 

Melissa rolls her eyes at the stubborn child, while she mentally applauds and chastises the child. ‘It’s good that the girl is wary of strangers and I am sorry that she must live in fear of people’s reaction to her true self, but she needs to know there is good with the bad.’ Melissa doesn’t say the girl can trust her, instead she says, “I am like your brother. He’s human, but still pack, right?”

 

The girl looks over at her wide eyed brother, who watches the nurse and his sister cautiously, but without panic. “So your parents are werewolves, too?” She asks confused.

 

“No hun, my son was bitten and turned. He is not a born werewolf.” The child nods at her explanation and her face brightens as she leans in to rub her face into the woman’s neck. “He smells good.”

 

Proud tears crease at the corner of her eyes, “He is good.”

 

She hugs the brave child closer and releases her, only the little werewolf won’t let go. The boy peers through the metal rails of the gurney at the two and watches sadly like he just wants to be held, too. Melissa hefts the girl’s weight to her side, cringing as her small weight settles on a bruise left over from the darach. Her body is still stiff from sitting on the cold ground for over twenty four hours with little movement. She is thankful the scrubs and gloves cover the rope burns. ‘God it hasn’t been thirty-six hours since I climbed out of the cellar. Now here I am in the thick of the next supernatural mess.’ She gripes as she stands with the tiny werewolf buried into her neck. She carefully half hugs the little boy and presses a kiss to his forehead. He quietly sobs on the gurney, as she rubs the back of his uninjured arm.

 

Little bruises from his sister’s grip will go unnoticed for now under the influence of the pain meds, but later he will feel the purple marks. Melissa hopes that the boy focuses on his sister’s support, rather than the pain.

 

She does not hesitate being tactile with patients who actually want the touch. Some nurses find the sentiment wrong that it shows favoritism or leads to attachment, which in turn creates unhealthy stress when the patient leaves or dies. Some professional simply believe touch is just unprofessional. In Melissa’s many years as a nurse, she knows the body and spirit heal better with touch. She knows the little boy would rather have his dad’s comfort, but that won’t happen ever again. So she gives what she can.

 

The examination room doors open to show a surprised orderly and a janitor.

 

“Alright kids, let’s go find a quiet place to rest.” Melissa tugs the six year old off her hip and places her gently by her brother’s feet on the gurney. “Don’t let go of the rail. Don’t touch your brother’s back where the white bandages are. You do not want to cause any infection or germs get inside and hurt him, okay?”

 

The little girl gives a solid nod and Melissa pushes the small bed out of the room. The orderly and janitor wave quickly at the kids, and then scramble to sterilize the room for the next operation.

 

As soon as she clears the tent matrix of temporary hospital rooms a screeching wail almost has the little girl flying out of the bed. Melissa rushes forward to grab the six year old’s shirt and pulls her back to sit on the bed, “Stay,” she commands.

 

Melissa turns to the Red Cross volunteer running over to McCall with a screaming toddler in her arms.

 

“I can’t console her. She won’t stop crying. She has been like this the entire time!” The hassled woman cries out.

 

At the sight of the toddler’s siblings, the small girl makes grabby hands. When she is denied, she fights the caretaker’s hold. A tiny elbow knocks the older woman in the face.

 

“Ahh!” The woman’s glasses fall to the ground as her head flies back from the impact. To the woman’s credit she gently shifts the toddler to the ground, releases her, and moves to cup her bleeding lip.

 

“Oh dear,” Melissa gasps and steps away from the gurney, locking the wheels with professional ease, and rushes over to help the dazed woman sit in a chair. She motions for the woman to keep pressure to her lip, while she goes to find a first aid kit.

 

She turns around to find all three children calm and quiet in the small bed watching her closely. The sleepy boy remains prostrate like he was told, while his sisters hug sitting on the back of his legs. The toddler is cooing and rubbing her snot and drool covered face all over her older sister, who returns the gesture minus the drool.  ‘Great another werewolf.’ Melissa groans mentally. “You three need to stay right there, I will be right back.”

 

Melissa huffs out a sigh as she searches for a fresh kit. She has no idea what to do about the werewolf children. They have been so lucky no one else has seen the girls’ eyes, but that luck can’t last forever. They need to be with family. She pauses as the dreadful thought that another pack is living so close to her son’s. She hasn’t met many werewolves outside of the Beacon Hills, the Hale/McCall pack, but the ones she has, she fears.

 

The family could have been just passing through the area when the earthquake struck. Their car was one of the unlucky one’s to be caught under the debris of the collapsed overpass. Well, the children are lucky that they survived. But with no identification or personal belongings other than a canvas bag and some toys collected by the paramedics, Melissa has no idea how to begin to find the children’s family. Melissa recalls how difficult it was for Stiles to find anything personal about the alpha pack. They all had multiple aliases and fake identification to that led to dead ends. Hell, she doesn’t even know if Ethan and Aiden have a last name and they have joined Scott’s pack.

 

If the children’s family is like that, under the radar, they could be on their own for months. If no one shows to pick them up, where will they go? Or worse, they could be split up in foster care. How many foster homes are equipped to deal with werewolf children split from their pack and driven to find each other? The volunteer couldn’t contain the toddler. No one could hold on the six year old without subjecting the child to some serious abuse. She can’t let that happen. What if the dad was the alpha of the pack? None of the children have glowing red eyes. If there is no alpha presence around the beta children, will they go feral like Chris Argent described? The hunter had been thorough in his explanation of werewolves and hunters, when he clued her and the Sheriff into the supernatural. After all they had plenty of time to fill, while they waited to be murdered.

 

She shudders out and heavy breath and inhales a strong focused breath and repeats until she is centered. She is at work, in the middle of the disaster, the worst things she could do is walk back over to the two little werewolves and let them smell the anxiety she is bound to smell like to them. Years of working in emergency situations allow her to grow beyond the emotion and the stress to get things done.

 

She grabs the kit she needs and returns to the hurt volunteer. Technically she should log the accident with another personnel and find a doctor to check the woman, but everyone is swamped with more serious work and she needs to get these kids out of here. She can hear the six year old growling at people that walk too closely to the gurney. She kneels down, cleans the woman’ lip and sets her right. Thankfully while the wound bled heavily, she will not need stitches. Melissa secures a butterfly bandage to the area and already the bleeding has stopped. She reminds the woman she should have a doctor look at it when there is a moment and tells her how to keep it clean. Then she’s on her feet, rolling the children out of the area.

 

When she finds a relatively abandoned spot behind the bleachers, she slows down her pace. Other occupants on cots sleep quietly a bit further away as nurses stop by to check the portable monitors and make adjustments to ease their patient’s discomfort. Above people sit or sleep on the bleachers. Their shadows move around to break up the gym’s iridescent light as it filters below. The space is dark and the seclusion gives it a quiet ambiance. Well it’s as quiet as a room full of hurt people can get. Groans and sobbing relatives still invade their oasis, but it will have to do. At least it’s not the chaos of the school’s cafeteria where the triage center is nothing more than a sterile tent and everyone is in a rush. The second gymnasium of the middle/high school in Grian Lake, is more like the patient waiting area for transport after the doctors have done all that they can for the injured before they can be admitted to other hospitals. The throbbing vibrations of helicopters running medical patients grow and fade as they ferry the more serious patients away.

 

Melissa nods at another nurse she knows from Beacon Hills who is assisting with the overflow of patients. Most of her hospitals off duty staff have been relegated to the emergency, like all the surrounding counties medical and emergency professional.

 

She finds some space between the gymnasium stands and exercise mats to create a small den for the growling werewolves. “Shhh girls, please don’t draw any more attention,” She begs.

 

“Yes, Melissa!” The six-year-old beams.

 

“Good, names please.” She watches their faces drawdown in avoidance and she is met with silence like all the other fireman, paramedics, nurses and doctors they have come into contact with today. The few artifacts salvaged from the car have been searched for anything that could lead to a name. The license plates show a fake address and fake name. Given the lack of free officers to trace the leads further, they have nothing. ‘Boy their parents went overboard with the stranger danger thing.’ Then she slaps herself in admonishment as she remembers their father’s nameless corpse is resting in the emergency center’s morgue (the school’s kitchen freezers).

 

The police assigned to investigate the children are beginning to suspect the children to be kidnapped or exploited, given their unusual fear of adults. She needs to get them to open up to her, so she can figure out the next step and get them out of the line of prying authorities or there will be questions about glowing eyes and sharp pointy teeth.

 

“Peanut,” she points at the boy. “Butter,” she calls the toddler. “And Jelly,” she tickles the six year old girl, who giggles.

 

“That’s not my name,” the nine year old boy says softly. His healing body is forcing him to sleep. He can’t fight off the pain medication any longer and he drifts off.

 

Melissa bites her lip. She half wants to prod the boy awake, so in his drugged state he’ll let a name slip, but she figures that’s wrong. The poor child has been through enough for today, she needs the children to trust her and tricking something that is obviously a big secret to them doesn’t seem like a good way to endear herself to the kids.

 

“Butt..ter,” the toddler repeats.

 

“I want to be Strawberry Jelly,” the six year old bounces on her sleeping brother’s legs, but he doesn’t wake at the movement.

 

She would find a second bed for the two girls to keep them from waking the boy, but she knows all the beds are full. The shortage has left other patients lining the gymnasium floor on blankets or their own coats if they are well enough.

 

Betsy, a nurse she works with, steps carefully over the bleacher supports carrying a tray. As she enters the space Melissa found for the children, she is greeted with twin growls and the girls move to hide behind Melissa. She feels them wrap their little hands in her scrubs and pull her closer to them for shelter.

 

“Hush, thanks I’ll make sure they eat and he gets his meds when he wakes.” Melissa steps forward to the woman, as much as the children allow, and takes the tray. She expertly stabs the straws through the juices and hands them off to the girls behind her without turning from her friend or spilling a drop.

 

“No problem Melissa. Thank goodness you’re finally taking your break. I was gonna go in there and drag you out. Heard your protection of the little ones, got two nurses on permanent bed pan duty. They deserve it. Talking like that to you in the theater in front of the doctor. Who do they think they are? I tell you…”

 

As Betsy gabs on the girls relax, seeing that the new woman pays them no attention or tries to ask them questions daddy said not to talk about. Melissa hands Jelly and Butter crackers with cheese on them. A burst of orange oil fills the air and Jelly hums in delight at the smell. All day she has had the worst smells in her sensitive nose, except for Melissa’s alpha; this is the first happy smell she enjoys. She starts to cry it makes her so happy, then she remembers her daddy and she cries harder. Arms hold her warmly and rock her gently. She cries for her daddy because she can’t remember her mother. She cries for the memory of her good cousin, because she can’t remember his face. And then she cries because she hurts too much to keep it in. She whines out a sad howl for her daddy.

 

Butter joins in. She only gets a small note out before a hand covers her mouth and her sister’s.

 

“Butter, Jelly, babies calm down. Your daddy must be so proud of you guys. You and Peanut and Butter have been so brave. So very brave, but you gotta be the most-bravest right now and pull it in, okay. You don’t want to wake your brother. He needs to sleep. You gotta be strong and protect him right Jelly?” Melissa is holding both girls tight to her chest as she tries to calm the distraught werewolves.

 

She nods and rolls out of the nice lady’s hug to watch over her brother. Butter gives a content sigh in Melissa’s arms as she rocks the little one to sleep. Not long after the little guardian, Jelly, is asleep. Melissa tucks all three in together in the small bed with a blanket Betsy procures.

 

“Betsy your station has a satellite right? I gotta check on Scott.” She gives a quick check to make sure her charges are asleep and goes to fetch the phone. She needs to bring in the experts on this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah no idea why those names popped into my head, save for the lunch I just ate... nom nom nom
> 
> Gerard Argent finally gets to be villainous in the next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: violence, bad villain monologue, bad detective!stiles monologue, mentions of incest, mentions of child abuse, mentions of underage relationship Kate Argent/ Derek Hale, graphic injury, pissed off Chris Argent, pissed off Sheriff, new natural disaster
> 
> Things get dark from here on, but there is a happy ending so hold on. As far as sexy times, this is slow build. Sorry to those that are waiting for this, but we have a way to go.
> 
> I am not so much a fan of this chapter, it's all talk and little action. Sorry ahead of time, but the story will pick up after this chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Enjoy the premier of the season 3B tonight!

 By AzulMountain

 

The wolf catches the same alluring scent he found all over his mated fur when he woke in the dark cave under the most beautiful tree. Though the animal remembers nothing from before his sleep he guesses the scent he follows to be his pack. He stopped only briefly to mark the white oak tree as his, before he leaves in search of his pack.

 

He has come far in the daylight and still he finds no pack-mates, but their trail is strong. These woods are dangerous. There are smells he has never before experienced, but instinctively knows to avoid like that hurt two-legged meat that smelled of lightning and beetles. He was curious and hungry and ignored the warnings; he stalked forward carefully to sniff and the most frightening tree meat came barking down at him. He had never felt such fear at the sight of the glowing tree meat. He ran with his tail between his legs for miles, until he came to a bare valley that stretched straight like a tree trunk and stunk of the unnatural odors two-legged meats often wear.

 

From the cover of the woods, he waits for the opportune time to cross the open valley. A stronger wolf smelling of sour death and not his own pack has walked parallel him for miles. He knows this one is dangerous and smart, staying upwind, and careful to stay out of the curious wolf’s view. He doesn’t dare cross paths with it or the sour-death wolf will kill him, even though there is a familiar smell drifting from his direction. The young female travelling by the dangerous wolf’s side smells like pack. She maybe was once a pup in his pack, but left to mate with the strange wolf. He doesn’t understand why she smells of fear, but stays so close to the other.

 

The big creatures of the straight valley move loud and fast. Their stench burns his nose. He waits until it is quiet and no beasts roam near. Running along the trees, he starts across the gap, only to freeze when fast moving beast surprises him. The thing stops in a fury of noise. He must find cover, but he has to find his pack on the other side. He watches the beast for attack, but it stands still. He is almost there when he hears another hot smelly beast running at him. He leaps away at the last moment and the two beasts ram into each other like those strong-horned meats that live on rocky slopes do in rutting season.

 

He leaves the smelly beasts alone and gets away from the loud noise they make in their dominance game. He finds his packs trail and hurries on. Daylight is running out and he doesn’t want to be lost in these scary woods without his pack. He lifts his head in a mournful howl. He waits for their answer; nothing. He howls again; a sweet voice, though not wolf, answers his call. He yips and sings back, “So far away. My pack I am coming.”

 

 

He will find them.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek cuffs Stiles on the back of his head. “You idiot!”

 

Scott chimes in with another round of “You idiot,” and punches him in the arm.

 

Stiles drops his hands from his face, where they were cupped to amplify the sound of his howl. “What’s wrong grumps? He was so sad, he keeps calling for us. The flower maiden sympathizes with all wolves.”

 

“What’s wrong! You idiot, did you not hear Isaac’s and Scott’s explanation that Gerard freaking Argent knows about this shit? You all, but gave away our position and don’t start talking about yourself in the third person!” Derek screams at his mate.

 

“Hey you fucker, I will deal with ‘all this shit’ any way I chose! Besides I don’t see the bastard here, do you?” Stiles screams right back in Derek’s face human face.

 

“That’s because I am behind you.”

 

“Holy Shit!” Stiles spins around to see the very man standing behind the group on the crag above with an unconscious body draped over his shoulder.

 

He sways a little like he is drunk, before he drops the fifty or so feet from the rock formation to ground right in front of Stiles.

 

As Derek grabs Stiles to jump back from the threat, the man notices the body Gerard carries has a familiar face, “Cora!”Derek growls fiercely at Gerard, who slides the unconscious girl from his shoulder to the ground in a gentle manner. The old man caresses her cheek with his wrinkled hand and returns to standing position slowly like the man didn’t just land a fifty foot jump, but can still pick up the paper in his decrepit old age. Derek lurches forward only to be held back by Stiles and blocked by Scott stepping out in front of him.

 

“Wait something is very wrong. He smells,” Scott starts.

 

“Like a wolf.” Gerard finishes the true alpha’s words, but makes no move to shift.

 

“My beautiful flower maiden, you smell intoxicating,” Gerard addresses the partially hidden boy surrounded by wolves. He rocks on his feet and sways tapping his toes in his enjoyment of Stiles’ odor. His theatrics end when he notices a brown female wolf among the group.

 

“I see that not all my progeny has lost the ability to assume the Argent birthright. Though I see your desire to join our true place in this world is not for power, but for cock.” Argent casts his only visible grey eye over to Scott, then to Isaac, and laughs at the sight of the puppy. “You really are just a slut, my dear granddaughter. You lusted over werewolves as a human, now as pack bitch for wolves. I can’t say I’m proud.” Gerard finishes coldly.

 

Furious snapping and scrambling results as the pack try to keep Allison from the taunting man.When the wolves have settled, Gerard lays on the classic villain monologue. “Which leaves me to the dear Hales. So helpful in their stupidity; you see I wasn’t entirely sure which Hale would be the chosen, but I suppose you all should take a little credit. Dear Peter, always the sly beast, never gave any tell away that his knowledge of the _Book of Moon_ exceeded my own. Deucalion’s too. We made a bet on the wolf, you see, to the winner the glory. Scott, the true alpha, or Derek, the beta…” Gerard scoffs about Derek’s inability to hold the alpha power. “You of course know now, who won that bet by his humble presence here today.” He bows to Stiles and smiles cruelly.

 

“I am the chess master, flower maiden. Derek, the chosen, will bring me my flower maiden, so that I may create Paradise in my own vision. You of course, Stiles, will bloom beautifully like all lunar flowers and then fade away until you are nothing but a shriveled seed. Not to worry I will cultivate your remains, so that on each day of my dying lives, I will regenerate you to open another Paradise where I will be reborn into the world of my making. And last, but not least, Cora Hale. The lost child in the woods searching for her pack didn’t even know who I was, but I knew who she is, a young fertile bitch of excellent breeding. She shall carry my true line into the glorious future and I will rule all. Hohoho”

 

Everyone’s jaw drops as the oldest Argent actually finishes his mad rambling in true villain style, with an evil laugh that needs some serious practice. Derek is none too pleased at hearing the codger’s plans for his sister and doesn’t start laughing like the rest of the pack.

 

Stiles catches the other wolves eyes and gives a look that says, ‘yeah I know, can you believe this shit.’ He huffs out a laugh, “A chess master, Gerard, really? I would describe you as a swindling ring master cheating his audience with sad attempts of illusion. The great extorter extraordinaire! You live off the others’ work. Smoke and mirrors distract the crowd, while you simply take off your hat and bow like this fanfare is all a show of your genius.

 

Please let me guess because I’ve been wondering where the insanity started with you. I see you as a young boy hiding from punishment, who happens upon an old book in the Argent library. You pour yourself into in the fairytale, forgetting your father is looking for you. While your own father beats the living shit out of you in the name of discipline, you dream only of the book’s lore. Of course, you would fall head over heals and believe in the magic your father probably forbade and told you was nonsense. Locking your firm belief deep inside, you turned into his little murderer to escape the brutality of hunter training.

But you never forgot that little leather book.” Stiles peeks around Derek’s side to observe the lost look on Gerard’s face. The ex-human gray eye is blurred and he frowns as the dark memories are conjured at the boy’s words. Stiles smiles to himself, but keeps his voice steady because if he is going to reveal it all he’s going to do it right.

 

“You became the hunting world’s most important leader at the death of your older brother, Alexander, and you waste no time making changes to fit your hidden agenda. No human or werewolf was safe in your elimination of possible candidates the goddess may favor. You committed genocide to ensure your own chance to use the flower maiden, even though you could not unlock your blood’s power as ancient wolf. You vowed to take back your birthright. In your twisted mind, you were jealous of the werewolves who were closer to becoming a key, but were oblivious to the importance you revered. So you killed them all for their ignorance, even when you knew them not the candidate.” Stiles pauses to read the anger growing in the old man’s face. Gerard has long lost the jovial gentile look he adopted for this game. He looks like old man made of stone.

 

“What’s wrong Gerard, touch a little too close to home on that one? Or maybe I haven’t and that is what this really is about. Touching at home, your father or your brother? Keep the Argent line strong. Keep the Argent line pure. Since Chris wanted nothing to do with your training methods, I’m guessing it all fell to Kate. Kate Argent’s medical file is filled with abortions.” Stiles pauses to read the shocked look on Gerard’s face, “Didn’t know that did you daddy?”

 

Gerard wolfs out into a grotesque half form, caught between man and wolf. All of the smiles and goading stops at the sight of the deformed creature. Allison looks sick at the disturbing news concerning her family. She should be glad her aunt never got the chance to train her in the Argent’s secret methods or she would forever be lost to the pack.

 

Black mucous pours out of the old man’s mouth in a violent heaving motion. He slurps through his vomit. “That bitch!”

 

“So I was right about that- The Hales catch all your blame for a bite given on their territory to a brother you loathed. Alexander seals the deal by blowing his brains out rather than revert to the dearest thing in your heart: a true wolf. But you utterly lose yourself to revenge on the Hale family, when Kate turns away from her abuser to abuse her own victim. Her own obsession: Derek.”

 

Derek whimpers at where his mate is going with this. But quiets as Stiles runs his hand down his neck and continues,“Is it any wonder why you would choose Derek as the alpha to bite you, besides the Hale lineage thing. He was a mere child who pulled your greatest creation off the pedestal. You poured your hate in Kate, until she resembled the lowest creature on earth to you, your human self. And you told her you were proud of her. You are so twisted and sick…I would never had realized how deep your plans went if you hadn’t made that interesting point about the bet you and Deucalion made. Peter Hale and one other are the only people living that knew the goddess would open Paradise for none, save one wolf and that wolf was in the Hale family. Knowing both I am certain that neither would reveal this secret for their own reasons and you would never know to ask. There is nothing about a single chosen wolf in the Book of Moon, which means you learned it from the only source they learned it from, their druid teacher. Once you had your answer you murdered the man and somehow Peter Hale was blamed for his death. Peter never bothered to correct Deaton’s accusation. Isn’t that right?”

 

Gerard grins at the urchin uncovering all his secrets, but the little punk won’t be laughing soon.

 

“You are no chess genius, Gerard; you are cowardice and greed at their pinnacle. And you fucking codger work on your evil laugh, it supposed to sound like bwahahahaha or mwahahaha, not like a pedo-santa claus.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek cautiously backs the boy away from the creature that is seething in his fury. Pops and rippling muscles shift and shred his human flesh growing fur before their eyes. Gerard’s nose melts off and falls to the ground. “You probably shouldn’t poke angry despotic sociopaths with a stick unless you have a seriously good backup plan. You have a plan right?”

 

“Er, go get him tiger?” Stiles gulps at the massive transforming form in front of them.

 

“Oh gross,” Isaac watches Gerard’s nose elongate into a snout with many pointy teeth.

 

The old mans eye patch falls to ground and reveals a crimson alpha eye. “Shit, I actually forgot about that,” Scott mutters.

 

“You didn’t think to tell us about Argent absorbing Deucalion’s alpha power?” Stiles is backing away, not running, but the rotting flesh stench coming off Argent is intense to even his human nose.

 

A terrifying roar tears into the afternoon scattering birds from trees for miles. The elevation gain into the mountains leaves the pack backed against a step vertical slope. Not ideal terrain for running away, but he’ll take the chance of being impaled by a tree over the monster’s claws. Stiles turns and runs, so the wolves follow their master in training strategist.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

“Come on Argent, don’t be so pathetic.” Jacobs slaps Chris’ cheek until his eyelids blink open and promptly fall shut. He only gave Argent a third of the second dose to incapacitate Argent for those few minutes McCall went out for a break not a full dose like the senior agent believes.

 

Whispering quietly in Chris’ ear, so Williams doesn’t catch a word, Jacobs tries again to rouse the zonked-out man. “Get with it Chris! Where’s the fabled Silver Orion I heard so much about in hunter training, huh? Cause man you’re way out of your prime, if this is what’s left of my hero.” Jacobs punctuates his disappointment with his idol with a hard slap.

 

“You milk-face upstart dare to say that to me?” A cold reply gravels out of the tortured detainee. Where Chris’ face once loose in his daze, except for the rigidness in his eyes to keep the light from straining his headache more, now is relaxed into his patented smirk. All cold seriousness and one cherry red cheek courtesy Jacobs.

 

“Man you must have really hit the rocks in your bender. It was so easy to sweep you off the street. I thought I killed you with the first dose, I had no idea you were an alcoholic.” Jacobs greets his hero excitedly.

 

“You asshole, I am not an alcoholic and the bottle was for medicinal purposes. Allison brought her boyfriends over for dinner. It was necessary. Little shits drank my coffee, too.”

 

“Yeah I know, we have your kitchen bugged. Believe me I wanted to share the bottle listening to that spiel, but I was manning the mic and that wouldn’t have gone well with McCall. No need to be concerned about anything important supernatural wise, I gave McCall the edited version. I made sure to highlight his kid’s more pathetic whining moments for him to hear.”

 

“You are alright kid.” Chris looks genuinely fond of the twenty-something-years-old agent. “Glad I don’t need to kill you now. I kinda lost it on the serum. Your company updated the formula?”

 

“Nah, it’s the same old good stuff. You’re just getting old, more apt to lose control of your faculties. Your interrogation sounded like a memoir, honestly. You should do that in your old age. _The Argent Legacy_ could be the next top seller. I’d read it, but I just heard it all.” Jacobs laughs quietly at the pissed look in Chris’ eyes.

 

Chris proves how much he is control of his faculties, when his shirks out of the handcuffs and grabs the younger man by the neck pressing momentarily on agent’s external carotid artery. Not long enough to make him pass out, but enough to make him sink to his knees and fall onto the bed.

 

“That enough of a demonstration, sonny? Because I believe I haven’t had my prune juice today and I get cranky if I don’t stay regular. Get your ass up and get us some keys.”

 

“Wow wait a moment, there is no _us_. I can’t explain my sudden disappearance to the others.” The frantic whisper comes from the agent scrambling to his feet as Chris works on his ankle binding.

 

“Suit yourself kid.” Chris spins the younger man around until he has him in a choke hold all while divesting the agent of his service weapon. He clicks the safety off and points it at his hostage’s head. “Try not to make this too difficult, I can barely see straight. Just keep us steady and give him a good show, remember it’s your job on the line, yeah?”

 

Jacobs holds his hands out in surrender and keeps his cool. “Argent, take a second and think this through man. This is gonna be reported as taking a federal agent hostage with deadly weapon. William’s is going to call this into McCall, he’ll have the excuse he needs to pin it all on you. I’m not dumb, I’ve seen the tampering.”

 

“Tampering? Where are you headed with this?” Chris asks resting his weight on his fake hostage.

 

“When I say all, I mean _all_. He’s got you and your father on illegal firearms trading. Hell with the stunt Allison pulled in the apartment he’ll drag her into it for spite. You are a suspected weapons supplier for a multiple hunter outfits across the globe, under-the-radar groups, he has outed to the CIA as terrorist cells. He has the hunter organization by the balls and he’s going for the big names to take the system down. He knows about us! He is fucking us over because we can’t spill the secret on the supernatural and he’s got the law on his side.”

 

“And you’re just warning me _now_? You have been in on the darach investigation for over a week.”  Chris sneers into Jacobs’ ear in a harsh whisper.

 

“Look I couldn’t just break cover; his superiors have given him a lot of free range in this investigation. He had this set up to spring on you yesterday. He called in that tip, collected Gerard’s sound clips from footage to say you were the killer and the deputy recognized it as your father’s voice. He wanted it to look like business partners went sour and turned on each other. McCall lost his chance when I _accidentally_ turned the hospital footage into the Sheriff’s department for analysis, before he could wipe the tape.”

 

“That son of a bitch!” Chris allows the man a moment to rest out of the choke hold to think. This is not good. McCall has been in on the hunters and werewolves from the beginning. He is here to cover up the supernatural crime and bump the hunters worldwide down a peg. Does the knowledge of the supernatural reach higher in the ranks of the government than Chris knows? He watches Jacobs roll out his neck sorely. No, if it did, the FBI would likely recruit more from their personal ranks to build a specialized combat team. Who then? Teams capable of moving in on supernatural threats just like the hunters don’t just appear. Argent would have been informed about a new ally from his contacts; he is not nearly as out of touch with hunter news, as he has claimed to the werewolves in Beacon Hills. 

 

And there it is, the realization hits him and he turns back to Jacobs leaning in close to speak. “He works for the Council of Magic. They are the only force large enough to organize this coup so quick. He is likely in the Sentinel Brigade, warriors charged to preserve the balance between the worlds of magic and non-magic and protect the druids. His superiors are making a move to beef up their importance and role in the world. They want to take over the hunter organization and replace it with the Sentinels. His orders are hardly those of the FBI. They don’t know you guys have taken me in for questioning. This is all a farce,” Chris watches as the implications strike the man.

 

“That fucker is gonna keep this off the record and make it so that there won’t ever be another witness to contradict his report. He is gonna kill us all and use our deaths to further incriminate your family. No one, but Allison will be left alive. By then, the evidence will be too hefty to save her. She’ll become a Mafioso princess in the media. Even if she gets out of prison sentence for being a minor, she’ll never escape this.” Jacobs shows his deductive capabilities quite well as a hunter and agent. No wonder he has come so far at his age.

 

Chris and Jacobs freeze as the thunk of the screen door slams against the cabin. A moment later Williams shifts a bolt and cracks the wood door open.

 

“You need a shift change yet Jacobs?” The tall gruff man asks.

 

Chris is back on the bed, positioned as he was earlier minus the binds. He keeps his hands still, hoping the agent won’t notice. He groans when Jacobs gives his face a hard slap, but stays still and barely flutters his eyes.

 

Jacobs has his hand to his neck as though he were checking the detainee’s pulse. “No dude,” the agent says in a worried tone.

 

Chris thinks Jacobs really sells the youth factor to his teammates, so they overlook his sharp intellect and better performance. He knows another capable young man who pulls the same act. Similarly, a certain strawberry-blond girl acts vacuous to cover her genius.

 

“Get the car. He needs to get to a hospital. He is slipping into hypotension. If we can’t keep him awake, he could go catatonic.”

 

The agent must believe Chris and Jacobs performance because he rushes out the door and pulls the car up the drive. Then returns to help release the binds, Jacobs had barely finished replacing on Chris. Together they haul the ill man to a blue sedan. They dumped and cleaned the van the agents used to transfer Argent to the cabin from the grocery. A witness to the kidnapping caught the plate numbers, so they had to ditch the van earlier than planned.

 

“I tried to call it in to Agent McCall, but the call kept dropping. Maybe the earthquake took out the towers around the preserve. I radioed it into the Sheriff’s office to relay that we are in transport to the hospital. It’s strange, but they said McCall hasn’t been in the office all day. We’ll just have to take whatever shit he yells at us for covering his ass to make sure his detainee doesn’t die. Am I right, Jacob’s?” Williams turns to look over his shoulder at the other agent seated in the back of the compact car with his patient sprawled across the seat.

 

“Damn straight,” Jacobs laughs, as he gives the patient another hard slap to Chris’ already rosy cheek. The detainee’s ice cold eyes open to glare at the agent. Jacobs grins maniacally at the chance to continue a free card to slap his idol in the face in the name of a medical emergency.

 

“That pompous dick, is gonna get some dressin’ down for all the shifty moves he’s been pulling. I’m gonna write him up. He’s probably fucking this up to spend time with his kid instead of working. He’s not the only one missing out on the life of his kid for work.” Williams yells over the loud vibrations of the car on the dirt road.

 

Jacobs smells it before he sees the fire. Up ahead there is black plume of smoke, drifting above the forest, from an accident. A wrecked car is pushed half into a boulder twenty feet off the road and the other half is unrecognizable trail of tires and broken parts leading back to the dirt road. What was once a silver or grey four by four of some type is now a smoldering heap of burnt out metal. Several trees in the vicinity have ignited. This accident the origin of a serious wildfire in the making, despite the heavy rainfall from the typhoon last week, the area has been experiencing years of decreased rainfall.

 

A large pine crowns before their eyes, exploding in flash as the oils and dense canopy combust in rapid sequence, until the fire is like a ladder igniting the next tree. Large embers catch in the afternoon wind and carry the fire further into the preserve, igniting other trees and shrubs. While the black smoke is going strong, a white haze of natural materials burning begins to cover the area blocking the light, until the car is surrounded by an eerie orangeglow.

 

“Shit!” Williams throws the car in reverse and quickly backs the car away from a burning tree that has fallen across the road in front of the sedan. Their path to the highway is now blocked.

 

“Call it in,” Jacobs yells from the back seat. He opens his door and leaves the vehicle rushing over to the flambeed four by four. He holds his shirt to his nose to keep from inhaling the heavy smoke. Ducks around the boulder out of the car’s sight then reappears by the side of the car. Meanwhile the Sheriff’s emergency response dispatch has sent a wildfire crew to the area and advised the FBI agent on an alternative route to reach the hospital.

 

“Williams back the car out of all the smoke; Argent is no state to breathe this in.” Chris rolls his eyes but remains the perfect actor. Chris scoots over so Jacobs doesn’t sit on him in his rush to get back in the car and away from the heat rolling off the accident and growing wildfire.

 

As the car retreats, Jacobs lets Williams know he couldn’t find anyone or a body tossed from the car. He wouldn’t be able to identify any remains in the charred vehicle given the heat and smoke. Not that anyone would survive the crash, let alone the fire.

 

“I’d did find parts of another car and there are also fresh tracks.” Jacobs rubs the ash from his irritated eyes.

 

“Alright we’ll need to take this county road seven miles back to a junction that will take another twenty minutes to hit the junction and another forty to reach the highway. So were looking at least another hour and half until we get to town, is he going to make it?” Williams clearly doesn’t want to fill out the paperwork to explain a dead detainee given his level of concern.

 

“He should,” Jacobs pretends to check his blood pressure with the arm cuff, “Looks like his pulse is steady, not dipping like it was. We still need to go to hospital. He should be able to hold out for that long. Besides, at the rate that wildfire was spreading, we would have had to evacuate the cabin in another twenty minutes anyway. We might as well move things into the Beacon Hills safe-house.”

 

“I don’t get why McCall had us come all this way. Things would have been much better if we did this at the Sheriff’s station, without the juice, it just doesn’t feel right.” Williams says as he pushes the sedan to handle the rough terrain and heads back the way they came and deeper into the woods.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Lights flash and blind the Sheriff as he tries to descend the temporary metal staircase with grace far beyond an injured Stilinski. He somehow manages all the tiered steps and slides behind the crowd control officers and out of the media’s spot light. Questions still fly at him over the officers’ shoulders, but the police eventually get them under control and remind them the next media briefing is scheduled for eight pm. They will be able to get their questions answered then.

 

He has only a second to unscrew a bottle of water, before a hand grabs his arm away from taking a sip. A very stern Melissa McCall has a smoldering look and he knows to be only trouble. He groans and begins to follow the fiery nurse out of the Grian Lake’s middle/high school auditorium. The Grian Lake mayor gives the Sheriff a disapproving look, not because of his company, but because the Sheriff inadvertently stole the mayor’s moment. The Sheriff just ignores the man and forces his free hand into his coat pocket to avoid giving the man the finger. Several federal level management advisers tell him did a fine job handling the rush of questions and they will meet again at 7:30 pm to go over their logistical plans for the night at the next briefing. Stilinski just nods, absorbs the information and moves through the crowd until he and Melissa have some space to talk.

 

“What the hell happened to you?” Always the nurse and always blunt, Melissa fiddles with his injuries and pushes gently to check swelling. Swapping out the dirty bandages for clean ones, she races through her explanation about the werewolf children and how she spent her break trying to contact her son and his pack about the situation.

 

“I know about the boys missing, Melissa.” He slumps over and buries his face in his hands, “This is another one of those supernatural things. Someone did this to my boy, did this to all these people, destroyed their families, their homes for some kinda ritual.” He is speaking so softly and coldly Melissa is shocked at his fury. “ALL OF THIS!” He screams out in the mostly empty hall.Everyone who is in the area peaks around at the whispering couple, withdrawing in fear when they see the irate officer is armed and quickly get on their way.

 

Melissa steps over the Sheriff and leans down to hug his head to her chest in a platonic way. She hauls the distraught man up off the chair and leads him to an abandoned classroom, where she should have taken him initially; she just didn’t want any of his co-workers getting any ideas because if anyone gabs more than her nurses, it’s the Sheriff’s deputies.

 

“Alright, sit down and explain to me what you know and we’ll take it from there.” Melissa has to question him a little to try and get the Sheriff to talk through all the details, so they are on the same page. But eventually she gets it all.  

 

“Well have you tried Lydia again?” Melissa asks the Sheriff when all the other contacts and plans failed.

 

“Er, no.” He pulls out his satellite and tries the young woman’s number.

 

“This better not be Peter Hale,” comes the gravelly answering voice.

 

“No Lydia,” His tired voice replies. He is done with any sass for the day. “It’s the Sheriff. What happened we had a plan? Why isn’t there an answer at the clinic?”

 

“I had to drop Aiden off at _work_. “ She stresses the word ‘work’ like it is an ugly thing and continues, “When I returned Morell was gone. She had cast something; I could still feel the vibrations. The door was wide open and her jeep gone. I tried to shut the door, but if Deaton losses anything to a burglar I am not responsible.”

 

“What was wrong with the door?” Sheriff wants to know if Morell was attacked. If somehow the darach is back and out for revenge.

 

“Er well,” she pauses long enough to make the Sheriff suspicious, “Aiden broke down the door, so we could get Morrell out of an ash circle.”

 

“Ms. Martin, I will say this once and I don’t need a werewolf to tell if you are lying, what are the other little details you and Morrell have neglected to inform me about this morning’s events? May I remind you that I too know how it feels to be kept out of the loop for protection? Stiles did it for months and your friends the same to you.” It a bit of a low ball, but he is tired of playing games.

 

She gives all the details, even down to the fact his son has decided to dye his hair violet, if her vision is to be believed. She describes the wolves and the flowers. Honestly he would think Lydia has helped herself to the vet’s supply of codeine on her way out the door, but he saves his judgement.

 

“So the only other known developments are Chris Argent has been kidnapped and Cora Hales radio silence. Morrell sounds like she went after Deaton, most likely traveled...” The Sheriff stops speaking as the door to the classroom creaks open. He waits patiently for some officer running an errand to demand his presence. But a small hand curls around the inside of the door. His brow quirks at Melissa’s sigh. The nurse heads over to their shy little visitor. She disappears into the hall and he watches her silhouette through the cloudy glass door as she cradles a small form to her chest and rocks the whimpering child. She returns with a sandy brown haired toddler that holds tight to Melissa’s neck, rubbing all over her cheeks.

 

It takes the Sheriff no time to realize this werewolf is one of the two girls she mentioned earlier. ‘Great.’

 

His radio crackles for him to respond. The werewolf kid jumps at the sound, swinging her head to look at the uniformed man and instantly begins to growl.

 

He walks over to the windows in the classroom to look out and responds to dispatch. As the news of a growing wildfire in Beacon Hills Preserve comes, he watches several news vans race out of the parking lot to head for the highway system. Two almost collide in their hurry to respond to the breaking news, swerving at the last moment into a school fence and a Red Cross supply truck. He jots down license plates and news channel logos with practiced ease. He will happily write the drivers tickets for road rage, careless driving resulting in the destruction government of property, and leaving the scene of an accident, when he gets a break from dealing with the newest disaster. The good news is that he is needed back home and he can shed his responsibilities here to the capable disaster managers.

 

 

After issuing a few orders to his Under Sheriff, the Sheriff picks up the interrupted call to the strawberry blonde, “Lydia, I’ve got a job for you.” 

Chapter Warnings: violence, bad villain monologue, bad detective stiles monologue, mentions of incest, mentions of child abuse, mentions of underage relationship Kate Argent/ Derek Hale, graphic injury, pissed off Chris Argent, pissed off Sheriff

 

Things get dark from here on, but there is a happy ending so hold on.

I am not so much a fan of this chapter, but I can’t seem to fix the monologue part. Sorry ahead of time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Chapter: Graphic description of violence and injuries, attempted rape, mate bonds being all powerful, graphic illustration of child's being attacked, assault on children, minor character death!! 
> 
> More freaking drama and it's getting to me how colossal this freaking thing is just get to Paradise and the sex! (probably some of you readers and myself editing the thing about a month after I finished writing it!)
> 
> I hope that you guys are actually enjoying this thing, I am going to try and knock the rest of this monster out in the next week. there probably are another five to eight chapters left.

By AzulMountain

Scott rolls into Isaac just in time to take Gerard’s bite that would otherwise have taken the pup’s head off.

 

“Argh,” He screams as Gerard thrashes his clamped jaws around in order to maximize the severity of the wound.

 

“Stop it you’re killing him,” Allison screams at her grandfather. Her hobbled trot is leaving her behind the fight as the chaos moves down the mountain hillside to the forest below. She barrels down the slope and snaps viciously at the monster’s hind leg to get him to give, but the wolf simply kicks back at the brown wolf sending her flying into a tree and she doesn’t get up again.

 

Isaac try as he might, is snapping when there is an opening to tear away any flesh he can with no fear, but his small stature and weakness compared to the others leaves him panting and an easy target for the monster. One bite almost proved too much for the pup as his lodged jaw was almost split by the flex of Gerard’s muscle and shake to dislodge the nuisance. The pup takes another fall under the monster’s feet and Stiles thinks he’s a goner when Gerard raises his front paw with the intent to slash the pup open. Derek, in a flash of white, rejoins the fight. His pounce and solid latch onto Gerards throat, knock’s the bastard off of Scott and Isaac and together they roll farther down the gully, until both wolves are rolling as one, latched together in death grips and neither one giving. The yin-yang of white and black coats blur into grey before they disappear over the gully’s drop to the river below.

 

“Derek!” Stiles screams as he watches his mate disappear from sight.

 

Stiles turns around to find neither Scott nor Isaac can get up, though both are conscious. Scott’s stomach wound is bleeding heavily. Stiles can see Scott’s soft innards have been shredded under Gerard’s viciousness. Shock over comes Scott’s wolf body. The wolf tries to curl in on his wound, but can’t because Argent’s bite has severed the muscles, instead he tries to get up like the adrenaline, still flowing in his veins, tells him too. If Scott does manage to get vertical, then his innards will fall out and he’ll bleed to death before Stiles can heal him.

 

“No Scott!” He rushes over and flops onto the blood soaked ground next to his best friend and immediately begins to caress the wolf’s multicolored coat to heal him. Scott’s beautiful coat is shredded, even his black bands around his foreleg where his tattoo would rest on his human form, have teeth marks cut across the skin.

 

Isaac belly crawls over to the fallen wolf and howls out miserably at the sight of his alpha. Scott’s nostrils flair and his breath becomes erratic as scott senses his packmates distress.

 

“Stop it Isaac! You gotta keep quiet. Move to his head and help me keep him calm!” The puppy shuffles on three paws over to Scott and flops on his side in exhaustion and starts liking his alpha’s nose, despite the blood dripping out.

 

“God Scott, stay caml, come on buddy,” Stiles is pours all of himself into his friend. The pull on Derek’s and Nemy’s bonds helps him draw the strength he needs to keep Scott alive.

 

At some point a brown wolf wraps herself around him and Scott to block the cold mountain wind. The afternoon’s daylight is still warm, but the sun won’t last long as it sets behind the mountains height blocking their light and their warmth.

 

When Stiles is slowly making progress on Scott’s torn stomach, Stiles feels the twinge of Derek’s bond weakening. “No Derek! Stay with me, please stay with me. I love you.” He says over and over. There is nothing he can do, if Stiles tries to leave now Scott’s wound is volatile enough that the wolf could re-open the raw injury. Scott needs him now, he can only trust in his mate to get through this alive.

 

Isaac and Allison freeze at the sound of footsteps and their hackles raise in alarm, but neither can stand as their stressed muscles have cramped in the quiet vigil for Scott. It turns out to be unnecessary to spring into action, when they hear a familiar voice call out weakly in the tense silence.

 

“Stiles?” Comes the questioning squeak of a very frightened Cora Hale. At the turn of Stiles head, she wails “Oh thank God!”

 

She hobbles over, limping slightly. Her clothes are shredded down to her chest. Flashes of skin show between her clasped fists as she holds what remains of the material close to her body.

 

‘Please no,’ the panicked thought screams across his mind as he takes in Cora’s disheveled appearance and her terrified demeanor. He has never known her to be anything, but a strong and sarcastic woman. Even in her weakened state fighting the mistletoe in her bloodstream, she always had some cutting bitch remark. This is not the same woman. Tears are pouring down her cheeks as she hugs the boy, oblivious to the wolves surrounding him. He holds her tightly back trying to support her and reach Scott's injured side to continue his ministrations to heal.

 

‘Derek, come back to us,’ his tears drip into Cora’s brown hair. She shifts her hold on his shoulders and something cracks against his skull, and Cora mulishly apologizes rubbing pain out of the bump. When her arm falls from his shoulder, the sight of a black object comes into Stiles view.

 

“Gimme, gimme, give me.” He finally speaks intelligibly in his excitement to use the PLB she holds tight in her shaking hand.

 

“Are you sure it’s safe to use it?” Cora asks hesitantly remembering the Sheriff’s warning.

 

His answer to that is to press the SOS function. “Um, the only super scary thing I wouldn’t want to find me out here, already knows exactly where I am.”

 

“But Stiles you don’t want your dad finding that monster, while looking for you.” She speaks softly to the boy, just as stressed and terrified as she is.

 

Stiles face is stuck motionless as he absorbs Cora’s rational words. “Shit,” he fiddles with the contraptions menus, until he gets to the messaging option. He sends out  _I AM OK_ prewritten message with a GPS map to his father’s cell phone cursing the character limit and his shaking hands because he really wants to pour out all his mental stress to his father.

 

A whine and lick almost sends Cora’s claws into Stiles rose colored eyes in her fright. Cora looks down and then really begins to see her surroundings. Three wolves are curved around Stiles, a very different Stiles. She focuses on her scent sensory, below the heady floral scent that woke her from her unconscious state, there are three very familiar scents; Isaac, Scott and Allison Argent. Her heart races at the smell of the mahogany brown wolf. Argent shares a scent pattern similar, but different to that of the horrible monster werewolf that held her down…

 

She whines out a pitiful broken sound. She knew he would hurt her eventually; that their simple hike in the woods was a farce, but she never expected him to hurt her like he had.

 

_He had told her of his impatience and startled her, knocking her feet out from under her and swiping down her chest in one movement. Her werewolf healing knit the shallow cuts from his claws in milliseconds, before she had a chance to bleed. He wedged himself between her struggling legs. Her size was no match for his bulk, yet she still had fought, biting and scratching what she could reach. He told her he like it rough. That he enjoyed the way she fought under him. His excitement proof, as the monster’s hardness dug into her inner thigh._

 

_As she aimed to knee him, he bent her leg out roughly and dislodged her femur from her socket in her pelvis. He had rubbed himself over her, as she gasped in white hot pain, and felt the injury heal the leg wrong from her restrained position. She cried under his ministrations of gentle kisses nicking her soft flesh open on his deformed mouth. Blood and black ooze welling on his tongue as he told her he’d breed her full of pups. When at last he began to undress her, they heard a song filled voice answering the lone wolf’s howl._

 

_He had huffed out something about timing and leapt off her prone form. She gathered her clothes back around her and begun to drag her body away from him. He followed her movements, until he had enough of the game. The monster threw a solid punch to her stomach and she passed out to the whispered promise that they would continue this latter._

 

Allison feels the woman slip away into what must be a terrible memory and backs away from the lost victim. She knows her familial scent will only confuse Cora, given the nature of what she guesses Gerard has done, it’s safe to say she will not appreciate any unwanted touching.

 

Stiles watches as Allison and Isaac back away and he agrees with the female wolf. He inches away from the withdrawn woman, with very sharp werewolf claws extended. She is dangerous in this state, but he doesn’t go too far from her. He begins humming a sweet melody his mother used to hum as she gardened it always calmed his wild energy. As the soft melody soothes the lost girl from her mind, he returns to her side to collect the distraught young woman. He continues his song lulling all the wolves into rest and healing.

 

A rustling sound of dragging limbs breaks Stiles and company from their rest. Derek’s bloody white coat is stretched across the back of a very familiar grey wolf.

 

 

 

Peter in his own confusion is surprised to see the female wolf from the woods is a two-legged-part-wolf and really a member of his pack, not the sour-death wolf's mate. He hauls the beta wolf over to the other wolves. The sweet-smelling-two-legged-flower-not-meat follows closely pulling the weight from his tired back. Free from the burden, Peter gives a happy yip. He wiggles joyfully smelling and greeting each member in order. The alpha only gives a small nose bump, before lying back in the bloody grass. His alpha must be tired from his fight with the sour-death wolf. Peter rescued the white beta from drowning as the sour-death wolf held his packmate under the water in the river below the mountain.

 

The sour-death wolf was hurt as well, so it did not matter the great strength it held could easily kill Peter, so he risked interfering. When Peter blindsided the occupied wolf and landed on the black wolf’s back, Peter had ferociously bit into its spine and held tight. The black wolf flung him roughly back and forth in an effort to dislodge him, but Peter held tight and ground his jaw powerfully down until the muscle tissue gave way to bone and the bone gave way to goo. Soft juicy goo, that tastes so right in forest-meats, but not sour-death wolves. So he released the foul tasting wolf to pull his packmate out of the cold river. Peter watched the sour-death wolf float away motionless, until the river carried him around the bend of the mountain and he could see him no more. Then he had hefted the large beta over his back, taking no time to rest, until he reached the soft song of the packmate that had answered his call earlier and he knew he was home.

 

 

“Derek!” Stiles cries out and rushes over to his damaged mate.“Derek” Stiles cries as he strokes down Derek’s battered side. There are so many injuries he doesn’t know where to start. The fresh blood flows to the surface of the skin smearing the crimson color all over. Stiles can barely find the wounds in the matted wet fur. Both Peter and Derek have been drenched by the creek. While Peter has shook free of water and looks cleaner than the last time he saw the wolf in the Nemeton’s cellar, Derek is still cold and shivering in his soaked pelt. Stiles directs the wolves to move around the white wolf to keep him warm. By now the sun is sinking behind the mountain’s ridge and it won’t be long for the cold night to begin zapping heat from their tired bodies.

 

“Shh Stiles, I am alright.” Derek barely can hear himself speak with his wolf hearing, he doubts Stiles knows his words.

 

Stiles stills his hands, “Derek you spoke to me in my head. Don’t stop talking I need you tell me that it’s you and not some disjointed way I am dealing with the stress of watching my pack decimated by grandpa wolf. The flower maiden needs to hear his mate.”

 

‘Stiles it’s not healthy to refer to yourself in the third person. Argent is a monster, never a wolf.’ Derek replies the same way as before, telepathically over their growing bond.

 

“Stiles you need to rest soon, Derek is already improving, but your hands…” Allison nudges her snout to his wrist.

 

Stiles focuses down on his hands. Green tendrils of veins poke out from his skin. “I am withering,” he speaks softly turning his hands around to see the damage. He sits quietly for a moment, then returns is hands to Derek’s blood soaked coat and continues to heal the wolf.

 

‘No more, Stiles.’ Derek’s stilted voice carries over the bond.

 

“I have to.” His lip quivers in his exertion to keep focused enough to help his mate. A cough and gravelly wheeze from the white wolf’s flooded lungs, brings tears to his already red eyes.

 

“It’s... enough, the moonlight.. will do... the rest.” Derek’s tired voice grits out between breaths.

 

“He is right Stiles. Derek can wait, you’ll kill yourself if you do anymore.” Isaac crawls into Stiles lap and licks his nose.

 

“The pictures in Deaton’s book, remember Isaac, one had wolves bathing under the moonlight. They looked like they were feasting in the light and all the wounds were healed on the next page.” Scott mumbles out.

 

“He is right… I remember…from before.” Derek painfully adds.

 

Peter tilts his head at the strange sounds his packmates make, but thinks nothing of it as he snuggles back into the warmth of the female that smells too much like sour-death wolf and not of his pack. He rubs his damp fur all over her to cover the smell. When he is content with his work, he flops over her legs on his back to get the female to rub his stomach. The two-legged grumbles, but works her strange paws into his coat. He yips in delight and soon falls to sleep from his long journey.

 

Cora, sits leaned into Stiles side, curling her hand through Peter’s drying coat. “Your dad gave me some supplies, but they’re in a back down the mountain where I lost my pack, back where…” Cora trails off.

 

Stiles feels her shudders and Derek whines at his sister’s distress. Stiles softly chides Derek for using his precious breath. He cautiously tells Derek about Cora’s reaction to Allison over their link. The wolf growls weakly. Derek must find a way to protect his pack from this monster. He has no doubt their misfit pack hasn’t seen the last of him.

 

“Well wait until the moonrise and when we are healed, we’ll make our way to the supplies.” Scott orders the tired pack. “Argent is likely hurt if not dead; he has no flower maiden to heal him. We should be alright. Stiles pressed the SOS; the Sheriff will know to watch for Cora’s distress signal. We just need to make it to the road away from danger to meet him. Hopefully, we’ll feel better by then and we can figure out this Paradise mess.”

 

“Right O’ Commander Scott,” Stiles eeps at the wolf paw digging into his side, but settles back into the pile to wait for the moon to show. As he shuts his eyes to rest, the wind shifts, and the heavy scent of smoke greets the pack.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

(A couple hours earlier)

 

Chris hasn’t been resting long in the back of the Sedan, when dispatch puts out a call they have a SOS beacon in their proximity. While the dispatch is not telling the agents to respond as they know the team is

making their way to the hospital, she asks them to be on the lookout for the emergency and to please direct responders should they come across anything.

 

It’s probably some yuppie hikers well equipped from REI, out for a nature walk that caught wind of the fire. He realizes he just made fun of a well prepared woodsman; the very description has his face next to it on the wikipedia site (who uses encyclopedias these days). ‘Good for them then,’ Chris grumbles and catches the open palm that Jacobs was about to strike. He growls “enough” under his breath at the agent who is enjoying his job far too much.

 

Jacobs just grins and leans forward to watch the road between the front seats. Nothing looks a miss. Their position is upwind of the smoke, so all appears normal. The agent settles back to plan their next move, he has another hour to figure out Argent’s predicament before they reach the hospital. He is gonna stick it to McCall so bad, he just needs to find a hole McCall never thought to cover.

 

The car slows as Williams reads the sign marking the second access road, he begins to pull onto the other road, when Argent motions sharply and Jacobs tells Williams to stop. Where the roads V in a junction, there is a small pull off to park for visitors of the preserve. Nestled behind the dense foliage of a California buckeye there is a black SUV parked.

 

“That’s McCall’s vehicle.” Williams points out in surprise and veers the car into the empty lot.

 

Jacobs nods, but focuses on the blood smeared across a tree trunk that Chris first pointed out.

 

“His SUV’s busted in, you suppose he’s one that ran the other car off the road. What is he doing?” William remains seated behind the wheel. He takes a long look around the car and checks all his blind spots for activity and spots the blood.

 

‘Well at least the man is not dumb.’ Chris watches as the lines deepen on the older agent’s face through the rear view mirror. His suspicion at his superior’s unusual behavior is warranted.

 

“What should we do?” Williams asks the younger agent.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

“Jelly sit down this instant and put your belt back on!” Melissa is at her wits end. Ten hours on call in substandard conditions and the drive through the aftermath has her emotions running high. The discussion with the Sheriff has her so concerned for her son and his friends; she almost tore out of the school building with Jelly and Butter at her sides and Peanut riding piggyback. Luckily the Sheriff’s presence made the extraction much smoother and legal.

 

The children have a temporary home with her in Beacon Hills, while officers investigate the case. The child protection services coordinator on site took one look at her friend, the Red Cross volunteer who Butter gave a busted lip, and promptly signed the papers wishing her luck.

 

Despite the Sheriff’s flashing lights there is nowhere for the trucks ahead to go to get out of his way. He is on the radio tracking the information regarding the backup. Loads of heavy concrete rumble past the SUV in huge dump trucks, each accompanied by a squeal of “truck!” from the toddler Melissa calls Butter. All the girls are in the back and the boys in the front given the girls will not release Melissa from their grasps in the presence of his uniform.

 

A firetruck comes screaming up the highway and whips by, “Truck!” Both girls scream as they cover their ears from the loud wail. The dizzy flash of lights and fast motion whizzing by sets off a second hurl and a spew of fluid spills onto the dash. The little boy riding in the front seat looks ashamed for messing up the SUV. The pain medication is not helping with the kid’s car sickness. The Sheriff just softly rubs the child’s hair to avoid the wounds on his back.

 

“Kid don’t worry about it. You are hardly the first person to get sick in this car.” The Sheriff says sympathetically. He recalls all the drunks and arrestees that have soiled the SUV’s interior and not always with vomit. The mess sloshes as the vehicle bumps over the broken pavement, when the line of trucks can finally make way for the Sheriff. He watches the fluid spill into the scanner and grimaces as the sour smell wofts up off the hot machine. He wishes this entire drive he could keep his ears and nose covered. Werewolf or not, children always bring that extra something to car rides.

 

“Melissa, hand some wipes up will you.”

 

He grabs the tissues one at a time from the container Melissa holds up for him. Each tissue traveling between the thin spaces in the metal grate that keeps the deputies safely separated from the detainees. He wipes down the machine and then builds a dam to keep the rest of the mess from shorting the expensive dash equipment. He’ll have time later to clean it all up when he isn’t speeding down the highway.

 

“I gotta go potty,” Butter cries. The Sheriff’s heard that one from a drugged out teenager, before the zonker let it go last Thursday.

 

“Do the sirens again ociffer!” Jelly yells over the radio chat. Yeah not the first time he’s heard that from the back seat either.

 

The Sheriff because he has a soft place in his heart for kids and because he has another half hour to go before he reaches the city limits gives in to the bored child and hits the switch. The girls giggle as the boy groans in pain. ‘Hell’ He thinks. He’ll take a bored child over a sick one anyday and turns the siren off right away. “Alright kiddos no more. The siren has gotta rest just like your brother, so we all have to be quiet.”

 

The Sheriff decelerates as another gaping hole comes into view. A crew is already making temporary repairs. He drives slowly around the working men and waits behind the line of trucks and cars stopped to allow opposing traffic through the one lane open. The flagger sees the Sheriff vehicle with its lights flashing and stops the traffic both ways to motion him through.

 

Just as he begins to pull out of the line. Melissa shouts for him. When he turns around to see what the problem is, he sees Melissa frantically gesturing at the little girls. It’s too late for the bathroom given the wet stain on the toddler’s leggings. But that’s not the problem that has Melissa so upset, he sees the absolute terror in the six year olds eyes as she screams silently at a man peering into the rear seat window. The Sheriff whips his head over to check his side mirror to get a better look at the man. The SUV lurches forward in shock, when he catches a glimpse of red eyes under the hard hat and the fully wolfed out face of one of the alpha twin’s.

 

“The Hell!” He shouts as he sees the young man cock his arm back to punch the window. The heavy blow crunches through the reinforced window cracking the window like a spider web.

 

“Drive!” Melissa screams as the alpha tries to shove his hand through the glass to grab at Jelly. The sound of screaming children fills the air. The window gives and the arm slashes down at the child. Thankfully Jelly’s seat belt prevents the alpha from pulling her out of the SUV, but she is injured in the process. 

The Sheriff wastes no time and hits the accelerator. The SUV squeals forward away from the young man. Cars honk and workers shout in alarm at the rushing vehicle. Expert driving skills keep him from losing control of the vehicle as he traverses the narrow undamaged lane at a high speed. He watches the scene behind him unfold. Despite all the witnesses the Sheriff watches the alpha begin to chase the SUV. The white hard hat flies away from the running form, as well as a reflective orange safety jacket. The Sheriff’s eyes bulge as he sees the young man transform to chase them down at first on two legs, then as a quadrupedal.

 

He keeps the accelerator down, but immediately regrets that choice as they take off from the pavement. The buckled highway has become a launch pad and the SUV is airborne for a full five seconds before it touches down. They skid across the lanes veering dangerously up against the guardrails on the right side of the highway, before the front left tire blows and the SUV drops to skid left back onto the highway across both driving lanes and off the road on the opposing way’s shoulder.

 

The Sheriff fights the pull well enough that when they hit the shoulder they don’t roll over, but gently roll down the slope out of sight of the highway. From their stuck position the Sheriff has a perfect view of the jumping alpha as his trajectory takes him off the edge of the road down to their hidden position. He lands solidly on the roof denting it in. The Sheriff from his forward bend over the steering wheel, checks behind him to see that all his passengers still have their heads. He is not stuck, but bent awkwardly enough that he can’t release his holster to get his gun. The seat belt blocks his gun and he cannot reach the release.  ‘Shit.’

 

The SUV tilts and rocks hard knocking all the occupants around like beans in a maraca. The alpha rattles the door to get in on the side where Melissa huddles with the two frightened girls. The secured vehicle’s locks hold until the werewolf skips the handle and pulls the entire door from the frame.

 

“No!” Melissa screams from her folded position as one of the girls is ripped from her hold. Melissa’s own seat belt traps her from defending the girl.

 

Butter cries wildly as the alpha manhandles her and tosses her to side. The alpha reaches in for the other child and Jelly goes out fighting. The alpha roars in pain as the small claws rake down his face, puncturing into his eye socket. A loud snap makes the Sheriff’s stomach fall as Jelly gives a wail in pain. Her cry is loud at first then distant. From the Sheriff’s hunched perspective he catches the horrible sight of the small body flung into the air, until her downward arch falls below the dashboard in front of him. He hears a crash of bushes and the piercing whine of werewolf child.

 

His hand desperately grabs for his weapon. A small hand stills his hand, trying to help the Sheriff better reach together they manage the jammed release. A click of his seat belt, then he is out of the SUV weapon in hand, but he is too late to stop the alpha werewolf from opening and grabbing the little boy out of the front passenger seat.

 

“Stop!” He commands the alpha. The werewolf’s red eyes gleam with insanity. Jelly’s damage already perfectly healed.

 

Peanut squirms in the alphas hold. He sees the boy pain at having the werewolf clutching his injured back to his chest as he holds the child up like a shield against Sheriff’s gun. They both know the instrument is useless, except for killing the boy between him.

 

“Put him down!” Stilinski screams at the alpha lowering the gun to aim at the werewolf’s exposed lower legs.

 

“NO!” A roar greets the Sheriff’s command. “They are supposed to be dead! He said he killed them! Deucalion told us to get rid of them!”

 

The Sheriff can hear that Melissa has freed herself from the SUV and found Butter, as the toddler’s crying softens into keening whines. Jelly is crying, but alive. And Peanut, Peanut is shivering in the older boys hold, pleading with his eyes to free him from the alpha’s hold.

 

“He wouldn’t lie to me. He wouldn’t lie to me! He is my twin! MY BROTHER!” He roars out arguing with himself.

 

The insane look in the alpha’s crimson eyes blurs until he is no longer here in the woods, but lost in memories. The Sheriff takes the moment to motion at Melissa to get to Jelly. Melissa lifts Butter and runs off into the woods to find the injured six-year-old. Stilinski rounds the vehicle, so he is on the same side as the alpha and Peanut. He wants to keep the alpha’s attention on him, even though he knows the werewolf can hear all the activity surrounding him.

 

“Help me! He killed my mommy,” Peanut whispers to the Sheriff. Unfortunately the words snap the alpha out of his memories.

 

The alpha spins the frightened boy around and holds him up to his transformed face by his grip at the child’s shoulders. His spit flies in Peanut’s face as he screams, “I did my job! I was following his orders? Why can’t he see that it is okay to kill, if we were just following orders?”

 

A roar of another werewolf sharing the same face breaks out of the woods behind the Sheriff. The Sheriff lifts his gun to spin on the incoming blur, but halts as the alpha ignores him and charges his twin.

 

“ETHAN!” The alpha holding the boy screams. He tosses Peanut away from his grip and meets his brother’s attack head on.

 

Stilinski immediately holsters his gun and rushes forward to collect the boy, probably exacerbating the boy’s wounds given the blood seeping through the child’s hospital shirt. He reaches the tree line looks around and spots Melissa with her two charges.

 

“Is she gonna be alright?” He gently places the crying boy down on the leafy ground. Melissa spots the blood and directs him to lie on his stomach and lifts his shirt to see the sutures tore in several spots but the bleeding is superficial not serious. The Sheriff shuffles out of his coat and places it over the boy. Melissa pushes the crying toddler into the Sheriff’s arms and for once the little one goes willingly.

 

“Alpha injuries don’t heal as fast.” Melissa hands shake from the adrenaline in her system. “We have to get her shoulder to realigned, before it heals wrong.”

 

She motions for the Sheriff to sit behind the crying child and help her sit straight. She tries to get the whimpering child to relax, but the child is terrified by the noises the fighting brothers make. The Sheriff doesn’t know why, but he begins to hum the tune Claudia used to sing to their boy to get the little man to calm. Jelly slowly begins to listen to his voice instead of the fight. Melissa eases the muscles with a gentle massage and tells the girl to keep her shoulders relaxed. The shoulder simply falls into place, with no popping and no pain. Jelly’s face lights with surprise and Melissa quickly attends to her other wounds.

 

Butter reaches for Melissa, after the nurse finishes with Jelly. Both girls cling to her, but keep their heads pointed in the direction of the fight. Peanut still cries, but the children are safe for now.

 

Stuck without super hearing, he needs a visual if he is to protect the group. The Sheriff draws his weapon again and moves forward. He reaches the edge of the woods to check on the fight and leans around the tree to get a visual. What follows is the most brutal and petrifying display of pure power the Sheriff has ever witnessed. Brother against brother in motion as they tear each other apart, severing all but their very bond. Until that too breaks and nothing is left, but two heaps of blood and flesh heaving to catch their breath.

 

“I killed them. Our very own blood. Father, Mother, Aunty Jenny, Ben and Shannon. Our own siblings all for you. So we could be together as one. Alphas worthy of Deucalion’s pack. You… you never even touched them. You lied to him for all this time. You lied to me!” Aiden gurgles over his words, blood spraying as he moves over to his brother. “Why?”

 

Ethan struggles in his brothers hold. He tries to push his brother’s fangs away from his face, but his hands slip in their mixed blood and the other alpha gains his hold. Instead of ripping his throat out, his brother curls into his side. The very same position the boys would sleep in their formative years. Back when they had a family, when they knew nothing of the evil in the world.

 

“All these years I thought you were strong, strong like me. That I could count on you to do what was necessary.” Aiden speaks softly in his ear.

 

“Necessary! You think murdering children is necessary. Tearing apart families like Deucalion does is not necessary! It is evil! Following orders is no excuse for their murders. What happened was wrong!” Ethan roars at his brother and twists to pin his twin under him. His dominance does not last, as a foot to his stomach launches him off Aiden.

 

“Power is everything. Deucalion was right about you being weak. How I needed to keep you in line, but I forgot that for a second. I was distracted by that harpie and by the time I realized what she was, you had already left me. You left him and you left me. You made me choose you over him, for a human!” The hatred is back in the boys face. He reaches down and picks Ethan up by the head. Aiden places one hand at the back of Ethan’s head, while the other supplies pressure to his chin and begins to twist.

 

“You think you are powerful Aiden? Tools have no power. Deucalion only wanted to control his tools. Your mindless obedience is nothing, but a pet awaiting a command. You are a dog.” Ethan’s hands are slipping against his brother’s grip and his neck muscles are straining to stop his brother’s progress in snapping his neck.

 

“Kill them now and finish his orders! We have to do what he says!” Aiden snarls. Aiden’s face capturing the purest moment of insanity Ethan will forever know.

 

“Never!” Ethan screams as his feet slip in their accumative blood. He feels his vertebrae creaking under the pressure, beginning to splinter, and then he hears the rapid firing of a gun. Ethan feels the impact as the gun wounds riddle his brother’s back. He falls to the ground mirroring his brother’s exact movements. Lying in the puddle of their blood, he watches his brother’s alpha power begin to heal the shots. His brother roars out a terrible sound, and turns to face the Sheriff on his knees.

 

It took months of strict training under Deucalion to form the unique double alpha form he makes with his brother. It only takes seconds to undo all of the devil’s work. Ethan stands over his kneeling brother as though he were about to perform the grotesque fusion, only instead of merging he wills his hand to remain his own. From behind his brother’s back, Ethan takes his twins life as he pulls Aiden’s spine out. First the cervical, then the thoracic, then the lumbar until the entire column dangles in his hand high above his brother’s still form. His eyes glow red in great flash before they dull to a purple.

 

The Sheriff will always remember the freeing smile Aiden gave as his brother took his life. He never told the werewolf, who was once a twin, of the emotion his brother showed as he died. The Sheriff figured Ethan would be disturbed to know, no matter if it was one of forgiveness because he would never forgive himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to Aiden fans, but one of them had to go and since I am already harping on Lydia and would never do that to Ethan and Danny, I killed Aiden. Their acceptance in the show always bothered me, maybe the second part of the season 3 will bring a little strife to the new members and old members, they helped kill Boyd after all not cool! Maybe Peter can show Boyd and Erica his zombie trick.
> 
> Also an apology to Cora, she never knew who the monster was because she never thought to put the smells to the hunter; it was just too foreign.
> 
> I am really feeling tired of this story, don’t worry I’ll finish editing it ( I secretly like the beast, even the ugly parts, but meh...). I hope you guys are still enjoying it. I need update Mile High Stiles and start posting my newest story Ice Bro-ship to Romance, so I’ll be around AO3, maybe just not where you want me to be. Thanks always for reading and all comments are welcome.
> 
> Peace


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: Borrowing the idea of a whomping willow from HP, attempted kidnaping, punishment, grief, loss, mentions of child neglect, mates bonding, sexual content (nothing too explicit, that comes later)
> 
> Enjoy

“You witch!” McCall grouses out as the high druid deactivates his Valknut, a trefoil knot tattoo that holds his Sentinel powers.

 

Now the Council’s warrior stands before the injured druid, just a man. He no longer has access to the magic granted to him. McCall not known for his accepting nature, of course, turns violent. He raises his arm to strike the injured woman as she leans against a tree trunk, blood smearing against the bark. She knows his reputation too well and is prepared. She channels her magic into the Valknut with an evil cackle, allowing the brand to burn good and hot, in retaliation for her ruined Rubicon Jeep.

 

Eventually, she grows tired of his whining and drops the spell. “You are truly unfortunate little knight that you chose today to delay me in my task.” McCall rolls on the ground and bites his tongue to prevent any more punishment. Lady Luck is not looking fortunately on the man.

 

He had cackled at the sight of the accident victim, not believing his fortune that the feared High Druid Marin Morrell would die from a simple car accident. He gazed in wonder at the bloody woman, who had long been a thorn in his master’s side, until a gasping breath of the woman alerted him to her living condition. “Deaton,” she had breathed out hacking at the smoke in the area.

 

“You know his whereabouts witch?” McCall asked thinking this moment the opportune time to get rid of both of the siblings, especially now he had a hostage.

 

Politics within the druid’s Council had turned ugly. The pair was untouchable, granted the highest blessing of the Mother and they had made jealous enemies. The current conflict within the Council involved the hunters. Even at the loss of his entire pack, the druid Deaton had argued the hunters, despite the slipping code and corruption, have as much a place in world as werewolves and druids. Their elimination would greatly affect the balance of the supernatural. Other druid, like his master, had called for their end and the role to be assumed by the druid’s own guardians, the Sentinels.

 

She had attempted to move away from the man, but he grabbed her arm pulling her slack body up to him.

She groaned in pain at the stress of her injuries, dangling in the larger man’s grip. “You will take me to him.” McCall had been so certain the accident had injured the woman enough that eventually she would die from her sustained trauma. He had thought that once Deaton’s location was ascertained, he would plant her soulless corpse back at the accident with none the wiser. A few preservation tokens placed on her person and no coroner would know her injuries to be hours old instead of minutes.

 

He hauled the woman back to his damaged SUV and held his FBI issued Glock 22 at her head. She had cooperated, played the helpless injured woman, and gone along with all his commands. He was none the wiser, until he had pulled his gun away from her head to try and bring the weapon’s handle across her temple once he had Deaton’s location. She had proved her training as a High Druid solid and dodged his hand, pulled his downward swinging hand across his body locking the joint, and threw him head over heal to land painfully in the parking lot. And that was before she started pulling the magic from his seal. She worked him over until the man stood as nothing more than a bruised weak human.

 

“Up tool, we have work to do.” Morrell commands the man to follow her as she begins her trek into the preserve.

 

They travel on a small deer trail north the smell of smoke growing thicker as they trudge onward into the valley floor. He stumbles along in front of the woman sore from her pummeling. Despite her injuries, Morrell presses on to find her brother no matter his condition. She follows a tributary down in elevation until it meets a larger creek, then she begins to walk with her eyes closed. Seamlessly, the woman avoids all obstacles in her path for the short half mile until she stills before a giant willow. There in her vision, she sees the druid and there he rests.

 

Deaton is propped up against the base of the tree, head resting on his chest. His chest is moving and she rejoices that her brother lives. The swaying boughs of a large willow whip stingingly out at the visitors. Morrell and McCall are forced to flee the tree’s range as it continues its defense of the man.

 

The disturbance must wake the man because Deaton lifts his head. With his eyes closed, he begins a soft chant that Morrell knows well to be her brother’s signature magic. The fireflies descend from the sky to the boughs and land as though they were strands of lights decorating every swinging branch. The afternoon light doesn’t diminish the glow of the bugs, each light burning bright as though it were a star. The tree’s limbs slow until the branches pattern resembles the cosmos, a model of the very night sky that twinkles above Beacon Hills.

 

Morrell gasps in wonder. McCall stands warily in his ignorance of the meaning behind this display. All he knows is some freaky magical thing is going down and he has no chance against it.

 

Deaton’s eyes fly open and green light glows from his iris. Immediately, all of the firefly glow at once combust. The tree becomes an inferno of whipping branches. Every spot the willows touches is an explosion of fire and a boom of thunder. The valley is burning and creatures scramble to avoid the flames.

 

“Deaton!” Morrell screams at the man. She finds no safe place to reach the man, who is surrounded by fire. ‘The Mother has him now.’

 

‘And he will not return, Druid,’ a small voice in her head catches the ex-emissary by surprise as her last thought is answered. She spins to see a small snake less than three feet in length slithering under McCall’s feet. The California Kingsnake shows no pain in his graceful undulation across the hot coals because a soft green glow protects the sensitive scales of its body.

 

“Mother,” Morrell drops to the sizzling ground and feels no pain.

 

Watching the druid fall to the hot earth, the Sentinel thinks the woman delusional from all the smoke they have inhaled. Despite his understanding of the word she had spoken so relevantly, ‘Mother’ as another name for the goddess of the earth, he just waits. The only magic he has experienced is that of his brand and his increased fighting ability. He knows nothing of this witchery he is witnessing.

 

McCall remains stubbornly vertical and suffers for it, all who bare the Her mark are free to punish as she wishes. He screams as his fine leather shoes melt to the bottom of his feet and he crumples in pain. His weight shifts off the burns and he falls to the earth. The ground burns him no more, his lesson learned to respect Her presence. Had his Valknut been active he would have known the snake’s presence was more than a black and white striped reptile fleeing the fire.

 

“Sister of my Chosen, your brother will remain as he returned to this world, timeless. He has ascended to the minor tier of my own children for his sacrifice. You will be charged with his duties here. Remain strong. I bless thee.”

 

With Her final words spoken Morrell watches the goddess cross the impenetrable fire ring surrounding the burning tree. The snake slithers up to her brother, who holds his head reverently down in Her presence. The snake coils around his form, climbing until it rests across his shoulders.

 

Deaton meets her teary eyes one final moment before the glow surrounding the two becomes too bright for her to focus on. She shields her eyes and looks away from his face, her gaze falling instead to the creek. She watches the water defy gravity to rise up to the willow’s canopy. Just as the water touches the tree all the flames burning it disappear and so does Deaton. The snake and another object fall from the space where Deaton’s shoulders had stood. The king snake slithers wildly to find shelter. It’s small body glows no more.

 

The creek water rains down on the blackened willow as Earth’s laws return to balance. As the water washes over the burned bark, the tree’s living bark returns. A wash of rain paints the willow green and healthy again. Life spreads to the tree that sheltered the man, while the surrounding vegetation remains black in the fire’s destruction.

 

The magic settles, until no influence of Deaton’s magic remains and Morrell finally feels her brother leave her.

 

 Morrell steps over the ashy water of the small creek to collect the object her brother left behind. She steps up to the open book. Completely untouched by the fire, the once blank pages are wet from the creek’s cleansing rain. The magic of the lunar flower pages absorb the droplets to show a once hidden illustration of lunar flower fields. Fields of lunar flowers and nothing else, Morrell is lost to what must be done next. There are no more clues in the book.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Ethan is still a good half hour from Beacon Hills when he hears the banshee scream. She screams for Aiden.

 

He feels his brother’s cold blood on his hand wet and clammy against the wind as he runs from his responsibilities. He left them standing there. He left them hurt and in need. He left his family once again for his brother. Their tiny howls call in the distance, but he cannot face them in his miserable state.

 

Aiden.

 

Ethan stumbles and crashes into the woods with no control. He is alone. He has never known life without his brother. Half his own soul is missing, gone forever in his selfishness to choose his life over death. He chose the lives of others over his own twin, both taking and protecting lives in the one act of murder.

 

His aunt’s children are alone again because of him and he can’t seem to care. He just wants him.

 

Danny.

 

Danny can be the new half to his soul. His lover completes him, while his brother only devoured him.

 

Ethan just needs to reach him before the rest of soul drowns in guilt.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Alright he’ll be over soon. Oh don’t worry he is a good boy, he’ll be happy to help.”

 

Danny raises one eyebrow to his mother’s promise and groans. All day he has been volunteered for cleanup duty by his family. First his grandmother’s shop, then his cousin’s warehouse, his uncle’s house, and most recently his family friend’s glass business. He has been sweeping and hauling debris for hours. The glass shop was the worst hit by the earthquake. He feels for the man who lost all his supplies as well as his finished pieces, really he does. He feels more productive helping the older glassmith get order to his life, then cleaning cereal boxes off the mom and pop grocery his grandmother runs, but he is so worn out he can no longer say he is happy to help. Especially for this task, this is not a disaster oriented task, this is pure laziness and he needs to put a stop to whatever well meaning grief response his mother is having. As the oldest cousin in a large extended family with an apparent age gap in his generation, the next oldest child is seven, Danny is the most sought after helper. He refuses to be his mother’s coping mechanism. He snatches up the phone from his mother’s hand and makes his excuse that he cannot come and change his neighbor’s cat box and hangs up.

 

“Danny! That was rude, she needs the help.”

 

“Mom did you even hear what she wanted?”

 

“Ah, well, she and I were talking about the coverage and somehow she just can’t pull herself away from the television. She is afraid she’ll see someone’s house she knows and just can’t seem to get anything done.”

 

“Well mom if you are so worried, why don’t you go over there and spend some time with her. Get her to turn off the hyped up speculation the 24/7 news coverage spews out. How many hours have you been sitting here?”

 

“Keiki, don’t take that attitude with me. I thought we were out of those teen tantrums. Lord knows I get enough of it from,” She stops as the news returns from commercial break, her eyes widen and she moves for the remote to turn the volume up. “They’re replaying the Sheriff! Boy are we lucky he was elected, not that pua`a...”

 

Danny shakes his head at the beginnings of his mother’s rant and walks into the kitchen. The news is blaring into the room and Danny can’t stand the television noise. He walks right out the back door, pulling playfully on his five year old sister’s pigtails as he heads outside. He stops when he sees her accumulated snacks. She has picnic laid out before her of a can of unopened soup, a peanut butter jar and has an overripe banana. She was just opening the peanut butter when he walks out.

 

“You didn’t get lunch from Ma did you?”

 

Danny had been the one to feed her breakfast, while his mother balled on the couch about all the poor people caught in the disaster. His sister must have been banned from watching the graphic footage the news channels have been hamming up. Which at least he can agree with, but that probably means Lana spent the day on her own judging by the pile of wrappers in front of his mother’s recliner. He grumbles at his mother’s inattentiveness, not that this behavior is typical of her, but Lana needs help understanding what has her mother and father so upset. Leaving her alone all day must have sent the wrong idea that it was her fault given the tear tracks down her face. He collects the little girl in a hug, walks inside places the little girl onto his surprised mother’s laugh and leans over the back of couch to pull the televisions power cord from the outlet. The bruised face of Sheriff Stilinski blips to black.

 

“Danny!”

 

He watches her outrage in the reflection of the dark screen. She is trying to get up to plug the television back in, but the child on her lap slows her down. “Ma, please explain to Lana what has you upset is not her fault. That you didn’t mean to forget her all day. She needs to understand about why her town is sad, why she had no kindergarten class today.”

 

His mother’s outrage is instantly zapped as tiny tears fall to her throat from the child on her lap. She shifts her weight back in the chair pulling her little girl closer into a giant hug and begins to rock the recliner gently to soothe the silently crying child.

 

Danny heads out of the room to start a nutritious dinner for his mother and sister, who both sustained on snacks all day.

 

He is just finishing the mango sauce for the tilapia and rice, when he feels a pull in his chest. A strange warm tingle of that has him shivering in pleasure when he concentrates on the new sensation. He almost drops the bowl when he feels an answering pulse. He blushes brightly when his mother and sister reappear after their talk to find him. He quickly plates two meals for his ladies and sets them on the table.

 

“You are a good boy Danny and I am sorry.” She catches his hand and draws him down to kiss him on the cheek. The fact that the television has remained unplugged is enough of an answer that his mother is done dwelling and ready to act. “Lana and I are going to go with grams to pass out supplies tomorrow morning.”

 

“Good.” He is scooping a plate of rice from himself when he feels the new sensation slip from quiet murmur to anguish. It’s such a heavy pain that he drops the plate and it shatters on the ground. His tears fall to the floor over the mess.

 

Danny feels his entire being leave his kitchen and race across the land until he reaches the end of the cord, Ethan. His lover’s crumbling heart pulses black in despair. Danny does the only thing he could possibly think, he holds all the pieces together and pours his love into the shattered vessel that is his boyfriend’s soul. His very soul is the glue that keeps his mate from dying at the loss of his twin. Aiden is dead. Danny just knows. There is no other reason that Ethan would be wounded so deep.

 

He promises it all to help this man heal. A flash of gold and the fractures heal. His love fortifying its strength until it is stronger than before. Danny bleeds tears as he feels the newly formed bond become forged in the heat of his eternal promise. He comes back to himself in the kitchen leaning over the dish, blood trickling down his face and onto the floor. He quickly grabs the hand towel to wipe his face before his mother or sister realizes his tears are the source of blood and not his hand cleaning up the mess.

 

Just in time to, as his mother returns from the front closet with a broom. “Keiki, what are you doing? I told you to wait to pick up the sharp pieces now you’ve cut yourself.”

 

“Ma it was just a scratch it doesn’t even hurt.” He exclaims as he twists away from her closer inspection. He finishes gathering up the shards and tosses them. “Ma, I gotta run. I’ll be back later.” Danny runs out the back door and jumps over the gate into the back alley.

 

He is at the edge of the woods when he feels Ethan begin to run closer to him. Danny doesn’t wait idly for Ethan to reach him. He intends to meet him in everything.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Dammit!” The Lug nut slips from the Sheriff’s shaking hand and rolls away from his crouched position into a bush.

 

The Sheriff closes his eyes and breathes. A little hand pushes the fallen nut in his cheek. He opens his eyes to see the tiny toddler has found the missing nut.

 

“Kiss,” Butter says as she pushes the metal into his cheek and makes a wet smack with her mouth. The cold metal feels good against his angry red face.

 

The older man grumbles out thanks and moves to take the dropped object from the child, but she moves away.

 

“Kiss!” She holds the nut out again this time to his mouth.

 

The Sheriff just stares at the dirty metal, “I am not kissing that.” He is denied again when he reaches for the nut.

 

“You better hurry up and kiss the damn thing. This little guy needs his back looked at.” Melissa huffs out at the Sheriff. Peanut is lying across the back seat on his stomach, trying to be brave, but still shivering out in fear. He keeps his eyes closed to prevent himself from seeing the bloody grass.

Aiden’s body no longer rests where he died, so at least the children didn’t have to see that mess. His pieces were hastily dumped into a deep rock out-cropping the Sheriff scouted, to decompose in the remote area likely to hide the evidence for centuries. Had he died from the gunshots alone, he might have been able to cover up the supernatural death as a defense to protect the enraged boy from attacking them. God knows how many people saw the teenager run after their SUV down the highway. Thankfully no one witnessed the Sheriff’s SUV rolling off the road to the hidden grove or heard the terrible fight and gunshots that ensued. No Ethan, the twin that saved him and the others, ripped his brother’s spine out and there was no way that Stilinski could explain his graphic death as defense. So, he was forced to do something he never thought he would ever have to do in his life as a man of the law: dispose of a body.

 

He could do nothing about the blood strewn around the vehicle, but given the fight’s savage nature the scene looks like an animal kill. He just hopes the hidden spot remains unnoticed until the evidence washes away. He prays for rain to help the wildfire.

 

He carefully instructed Melissa to avoid stepping into the blood or tracking any DNA of the twins into the SUV. So presently all the children, Melissa, and himself are wearing various articles of clothing from Beacon County Sheriff Department to replace the clothes in the black sack the Sheriff will destroy later. Luckily, the children had extra sets that were recovered or provided by the Red Cross Center. Except, Butter keeps wiggling out of all her donated items. The six year old explained the half dressed toddler probably doesn’t like the other people’s smell, but the Sheriff thinks it’s just that age and phase. He remembers a year of naked three year old Stiles escaping all his outfits plus diaper in a matter of minutes. The kid wouldn’t stay dressed, until Claudia presented Stiles with a red cape. Then he was a naked boy in a red cape.

 

He smiles in the memory and takes a breath. He stares down the giggling toddler. He rolls his eyes and quickly blows a kiss to the nut. She must be appeased by that cause she flings it into his lap. The nut strikes his calf and he curses werewolf strength. He rubs his new injury for a moment before focusing on removing the blown tire and replacing it with the spare.

 

He should be on his way to Cora’s SOS that his radio transmitter blips, instead he is stuck changing a blown out tire that will not cooperate. Well more like his nerves prevent him from coordinating his movements correctly, if his aching toes have anything to say about the jack he dropped on them.

 

“Sheriff what is your location?” His radio crackles and his greasy hands fumble to hold the receiver. He relays his position about 300 meters ahead of the hidden grove. Telling his deputy he has children in the SUV and a minor car problem, but all is well. He will meet them at the command post later. He relegates command to the Undersheriff and returns to the tire, until the radio interrupts again.

 

“Sheriff, why is the PLB registered to your current vehicle’s supply box been activated 20 miles from your location? Do you need SAR team?” Dispatch asks.

 

‘Shit!’ The Sheriff hadn’t thought about the personal device’s registration when he handed the device to her. Of course his office would be alerted to a signal code matching those of the department to get more information on the rescue situation. He quickly checks his cell phone again for signal. None. He checks the satellite phone and still sees zero messages in the inbox. He needs to get back into Beacon Hills and fast.

 

“I will explain when I return. This is a personal emergency. The person who I gave the PLB, could very well need a rescue, but for now have SAR stand by. I may have more information on my cell. Over.”

 

“10-4 Sheriff, I will send the message to SAR. Be advised command has a backup of all teams; next available unit will not scramble for another two hours plus time for refuel. Over.”

 

The radio dispatch continues with the backlog of traffic to relay and continues to blip as the Sheriff rushes through his task. He finishes changing the tire and quickly packs up the tools. With a practiced eye, he carefully removes all evidence they were here. Save for the tire tracks and blood the grove appears normal. He revs the engine and guns it until he pops up on the highway he sighs in relief that there are no skid marks and the grass shows little evidence a car went off the shoulder. He crosses the median to the correct side of the road, and then continues down the road to Beacon Hills.

 

“Alright everyone I want you guys to keep this a secret, and I know you guys know how important secrets are. Right,” at everyone nod the Sheriff continues, “we gotta do this to protect ourselves. There was a man who hit and chased the car okay. Too many people saw the alpha, even if they didn’t see the transformation. They probably even called it in, so we have to tell people that we drove too fast for the man to catch us. Then later a rock from the mountain fell down the mountain and bopped the car on the head.”

 

“Little Bunny Foo-Foo,” Butter sings.

 

“Yeah just like that, the silly SUV got bopped on the head, but everything was okay.” The Sheriff finishes lamely. Peanut nods from the Sheriff’s side, the girls nod seriously from the back.

 

Melissa looks around at the definetly not okay destruction. The Sheriff and Jelly, with her super strength, had managed to push out the dent in the roof enough that the adults could sit upright. The lights and sirens were smashed. The broken door had been hammered shut, but rattles dangerously. No one sits close to it. Melissa is belted in the back with Jelly in between the car seat and Melissa in the middle seat. It’s tight, but she is not trusting that thing to stay on. The window to the right of the car seat is covered with duct tape and plastic. It whips wildly in the wind as the Sheriff drives the beasted emergency vehicle back to Beacon Hills.

 

“Yeah, the department is going to definitely okay with you returning their SUV like this,” She says to the man, who turns a little green at the thought.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

His hand runs through the slick wetness of his mate’s ejaculation and a mixture of his and his brother’s blood. His filthy mate is a painted sculpture of dark red blood, white cum, brown wood bits and umber soil from their coupling on the forest floor. The woody undergrowth, a soft bed unfelt during their violent love making, now soothing as the spent lovers cool.

 

High off the adrenaline of a fight, Ethan had fucked fiercely into his mate, sealing their mate bond not with the gentle care Ethan and Danny usually prefered, but with desperation and heat. Ethan’s anguish and guilt spiraling into harsh dominance of scratching and hard thrusts with little preparation, overwhelmed the human. Danny’s initial fear dissolved under the influence of their shared bond, into a lust rivaling his grieving mate. The bond fed Ethan’s madness over to Danny, until there was nothing but their combined releases. The white flash of orgamsim separating the lover’s one mind into two and each felt himself again.

 

“Are you alright?” Ethan stills his hand at his mate’s groan.

 

“I think I pulled something.” Danny wiggles his leg free from its entwined position and begins to massage his inner thigh.

 

Ethan watches as the tan boy strokes up and down his chiseled form. Each stroke edging closer and closer to the teen’s softened sex. Ethan feels his cock stir in interest at the sight, even though his mate is in pain.

 

Danny’s head lifts from his concentration having felt the werewolf’s arousal through the bond and opens his bruised lips to meet his lover in a kiss.  “Please don’t give me anymore ideas or I will never be able to walk home. After all, I get to top next.” Ethan licks at his throat and mumbles something about carrying the boy bridal style, but Danny cannot hear him in his sleepy yawn.

 

They separate again in the quiet lull. The soft ferns tickles their naked flesh, Danny groans rolling his sore ass off the cool ground to climb onto the alpha’s chest. He plunges his tongue into Ethan’s mouth dominating their kiss, until he can’t stand the itchy debris and cooling fluids and they move to find water to clean up.

 

The light in the dense forest is darkening quickly and Danny needs to return home, but he refuses to leave Ethan. Ethan has said nothing, but Danny knows the way he looks at the blood beneath his fingernails he will forever see the evidence of his brother’s death. No matter how often he cleans his hands. Danny pulls his lover’s attention to him by kneeling before Ethan in the shallow brook. Freezing mountain water runs over his knees as he takes each finger in turn and kisses them chastly. Each kiss accompanied with a prayer for his mate’s health and sanity, for his forgiveness and love. Hoping that his mate understands Aiden’s death is not the end to life, but a new beginning. A kiss to each palm with the promise Danny will be right there with him. He stands again and presses one last kiss to Ethan’s heart where the bond anchors, “Mate.”

 

Ethan shudders and falls to the water on his hand and knees at his lover’s final strike and he can’t hold it in anymore. He howls out a broken farewell for his brother and then cries at his mate’s feet. How could he be so blessed by his mate’s love and understanding? How could he be so lucky, while his brother became so lost? He always thought his brother and he shared the same mind. They were that close. But there is no way he could begin to think the way his brother had or not think and become the sharp tool Deucalion sculpted. He would never allow anyone that power over his mind again.

 

Danny intertwines their fingers together and they start back toward Beacon Hills and Danny’s home. For the first time in a long time Ethan has found a home. Danny.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Stiles blips the power save mode on the PLB on. Once activated the beacon he has about double the life of the tested temperature of negative twenty, which is about 24 hours. He figures the device will work an additional 24 hours. He continues to send updates, but still has not heard from his father. From Cora and Derek he knows his father is safe, probably very busy, but safe.

 

The dour mood plummets as an echoing howl travels through the twilight. Its timbre so chilling and sad, all the wolves’ ears prick up at the call. Stiles waits in fear that the wolf is Gerard.

 

“It’s Ethan,” Scott mumbles to Stiles. While neither twin has pledged to the alpha’s pack, Scott feels their tie as allies. Scott has not shared the feeling of loss of Aiden’s bond with the others, given their harrowing predicament. News like that is best shared in the light of day, not when they are facing their own mortality. The injured members desperately wait for the moon to rise in the dark and cold.

 

Stiles wilting marks show he is in need of water or the moon whatever comes first. The boy is huddled over the white wolf form. Derek is covered in blood and breaths a sad trill of pain every time the wind direction changes bringing the smoke from the forest fire, irritating his hurt lungs. First water and now fire, Derek is lucky he can breathe at all. Today they were so close to death and the night is just beginning.

 

Scott wonders what will come from the glowing device in Stiles hands. If perhaps his friend is placing too much hope in the thing rescuing them. Scott knows how dangerous their known position will be for friends and enemies, but he can’t take this from his friend. If they even are found, who would approach a lone teen and young woman surrounded by a pack of wolves. Their predicament is best left to the people in the know, lest there be even more questions needing to be answered. The Sheriff can only cover for them so much.

 

Lydia, Ethan, and Danny are all likely busy with Aiden’s death. His mother, hell even his father, they will all notice the missing group, but are too absorbed their responsibilities to come after them. ‘I have all these people to support as alpha and no one to look for me,’ Scott sighs.

 

Alison and Isaac pop their heads up like they are following Scott’s internal dialogue, both give a soft nip to his scruffy body in protest to being left out. So Scott amends his mental thought and thinks no one outside their present company will come for him. Well maybe Chris Argent, but that is to kill him for dragging his daughter into this mess.

 

He misses Deaton and hopes he is well wherever he is.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of death, Deaton transcends his human self, Lydia is a grieving bitch

 

The redhead opens the fine wood doors to the entrance of her family’s home. Ethan and Danny don’t move to step in. She doesn’t invite them. The girl has been crying and her hair a frizzled mess. She smells of anger.

 

To Ethan’s surprise Melissa McCall steps out of the redhead’s dining room having deposited several shopping bags on the giant table and walks over to the front door looking around for something. She starts to ask Lydia something, but closes her mouth when she sees the girl is standing at the door with guests.

 

Ethan is beginning to think this is a terrible thing to do, but at Danny’s supportive squeeze to their entwined hands stills his retreat. They have come to break the news to Lydia. Ethan doesn’t bother to tell Danny, the banshee already knows given her scream. Ms. McCall presence further insures Lydia’s knowledge that her boyfriend is dead.

 

Melissa takes a moment to compose herself before the alpha. Ethan’s face is the very same as his dead twin’s, though his clear eyes in no way resemble the insanity Melissa saw in Aiden’s. She smiles kindly and waits for Lydia to move from the door. When the stubborn girl just stands there, she grabs the frazzled girl by the shoulder and speaks sternly, “Invite them in Lydia or I will.”

 

A fiery look crosses Lydia’s face, but she motions sarcastically in a grand gesture to enter, before stomping away. The guests round the corner into the family room after the retreating banshee. Both Danny and Ethan have come to know the interior of the Martin household quite well. Fine furnishings and impeccable design, a home truly worth the cover story in a fancy decor magazine, is not the scene the boys walk in on. No longer impeccable, the interior is in complete disarray. Fine pillows are tossed all about, one clearly taking down a one of a kind table lamp. There is a giant spill of what looks to be grape juice is all over the handwoven Persian rug, worth over ten thousand dollars. The antique coffee table has a giant red mark across the surface from a crayon, which has been broken and smeared into the fine linen couch. The new flat screen television is cracked in the corner from a thrown object, a small butterfly canvas shoe, if Ethan cares to guess. A loud obnoxious cartoon fills the silence of the once beautiful house.

 

A bang at the patio door alerts the visitors they are not alone. Three tiny figures are looking in at the crew assembled in the room.

 

“You locked them outside!” Melissa McCall yells at the teen. “What the hell kind of babysitter are you? There is a pool out there what if they drowned! Hell, the boy is injured!”

 

“Dogs should stay outside,” Lydia motions to the mess; “those brats are not fit to be inside!”

 

“I went to the store for ten minutes and this is what I come back to? What the hell happened?” Melissa asks the prissy bitch. The Sheriff had trusted the teen enough to suggest she watch the kids, while Melissa shopped for bandages and supplies.

 

“I don’t understand, Ms. McCall, why you are upset. It is not your house the little monsters trashed. Perhaps I should ask for reimbursement?” Lydia snarks at the older woman.

 

Melissa takes one look at the Aegean antique vase shattered on the floor that is probably worth more than her annual salary and walks out of the room. She reappears outside and collects her charges to leave.

 

As they reenter the house the two little girls lurch out of Melissa’s hold and race over to Ethan with their beta eyes glowing. His eyes flash purple in response.

 

Everyone is silent. Peanut curls into Melissa’s side at the man’s similar face that nearly killed him earlier. The girls though just stand in awe of the older teen. Butter gives a yip and jumps forward.

 

“That’s for mommy right? Your purple eyes?” Jelly asks while putting her arm out to stop her sister from coming closer. Butter tumbles back from the block and lands heavily on her butt. She is mostly naked again, having peeled away her shirt and jumper in the time Melissa left and returned, leaving her training undies.

 

“For Aunt Jenny, yeah Meredith.” Ethan brings a hand to his face just under his eye and strokes his cheek. His hand drops heavily. “Your mother, I am so sorry.” He falls to the ground in front of the children. “I am so sorry Dillan, Meredith, Nia.”

 

“And Aiden?” Lydia asks. Her words acid.

 

“No.” Ethan’s reply is firm, surprising them all.

 

“How do you know about that?” Melissa turns in shock to Lydia.

 

“I saw my boyfriend’s death at the hands of his twin. And you allowed this murderer into my home.” She turns accusingly at Melissa. Then turns her hateful glare at Danny, “And you fucked this murderer. Couldn’t wait for the blood to dry, Huh Danny?”

 

“That is enough Lydia!” Danny screams at his long-time friend. “You do not know anything past what your vision showed you. Did you see Aiden go insane and try to kill all of them? Huh? He ran them off the road and ripped the door off the SUV and pulled all the children out of the vehicle. He was going to kill them and kill the Sheriff for trying to protect them. Ethan saved them and almost got his neck snapped doing it. He saved the last of his family, by killing his own twin. You didn’t see how his brother’s death almost destroyed my mate and then he would have come after you!” Danny is panting in anger at his friend’s caustic treatment of a man who was forced to make the hardest decision in his life.

 

“You killed him! Why?” She actually cries. Not for theatrics or her crocodile tear act, she is a mess of snot and hitching hiccups as she internalizes his death.

 

And then it hits Danny, ‘Lydia actually cared for Aiden.’ He steps away from Ethan, giving his mate a firm hug, before crossing the room to hug the girl. She falls into the brawny boy’s hold and cries into his shirt. “Lydia he was gone. Ethan said there was nothing left of his brother in his insanity. He kept saying he had to kill the kids because it was Deucalion’s orders years ago. Deucalion is dead. It shouldn’t matter anymore. But Ethan lied to his brother and Deucalion when he said he had killed them. He must have smelled them alive in the car and just lost it.”

 

Lydia collapses back onto the settee and Ethan moves over to the couch. The two werewolves bounce over to either side as they clasp to their sad alpha and cousin, finally getting to feel relaxed for the first time in years. “When Deucalion came, everything changed. We told Deaton and Scott that we were from an abusive pack, but that is hardly the case.

 

Our father was strict, but never cruel to anyone in the pack. He was a co-alpha with his twin, my Aunt Jenny. While she was the cunning brains, our father was the brawn. He wasn’t even an abuser; he just seemed so cruel to our younger teen selves, when he embarrassed us in front of the family. Verbally and physically all our punishments were witnessed by the pack. No one stood up for us because we deserved it. Deucalion manipulated us when we were young. He started putting ideas in our heads that he was cruel and sadistic. Things that we were punished for became material for revenge. Our seething anger at our father in our teenage brains seemed to justify his death. We planned with him and he became the father figure we never thought we had.

 

We learned the fusion form under Deucalion teaching. He sharpened his tools well and when he was ready, we moved. He told us to kill the alphas and assume their power. And I readily agreed. We were in the combined form when we killed father and Aunt Jenny, who happened to be in the house that day.

 

Then Deucalion said to kill the rest of the pack. I didn’t agree and they both called me weak. I said I couldn’t kill my brother and sister. My mother….” Ethan pauses to wipe his eyes and continues with his deepest secret, “So my brother said he would, if I kill Aunt Jenny’s family.”

 

The children all look to their cousin in pain never hearing this part. Melissa is now holding Dillan, who she called Peanut, in a tight hug on the far end of the settee next to Danny and Lydia as they listen to Ethan’s story.

 

“I couldn’t and wouldn’t kill them. They were innocent. No matter how much power I felt after my revenge against my father, there was no way I would kill them, so I covered it up. I spoke to Adam, their human father and my uncle; I told him what I’d done and what they needed to do to hide. Hide not just from Aiden, but Deucalion. The bastard had extensive resources and if he ever caught wind of them, they would die, I would die and probably Aiden, too. All I had left was Aiden, so I wasn’t going to risk it. I met them in their house. We sat at the table and Adam cut all the kids to collect some of each of their blood, so I could put it on claws for the smell and the proof. Their fear and blood saturated my scent enough to convince my brother and Deucalion. Then we burned the house, disguising that there were no dead bodies inside. The bastard had the gall to tell me, I was a natural. We left the area right away with Deucalion, which thankfully gave no time for them to discover my deceit and gave Adam time to slip away with the children.”

 

We had no idea the man Deucalion was when we joined his pack. Solidifying our power to the man gave him absolute power. My brother thrived, while I did not. It hurt me so much every kill I made in the man’s vision. He beat the reluctance out of me, until I learned to fake it. My life was so twisted in pain, I lost myself and I depended only on my brother. My brother loved the man’s abuse, he craved his direction and attention. Deucalion was god.

 

Then I met Danny and I learned I could have my own life, my own mind and heart. Deucalion’s vision was wrong and enough of my brother was left that he recognized my distance from him and the tyrant. When Deucalion saw he was losing his chess piece, he threatened me with Danny. He made a poor choice because he lost my brother’s loyalty with mine. We were always together. I had my brother back and Danny, but apart of Aiden never followed and he was broken. He was crumbling apart, too broken to know his own mind. He craved control. But it wasn’t enough and now he is gone.”

 

“Lydia, he must have found something in you. You helped him heal, but Deucalion was a master and he made Aiden a slave. He made it so Aiden would always remember it. His unquestioning loyalty was a coping mechanism to relieve his conscious of the guilt he felt for the murders; for killing our brother and sister. Our mother,” Ethan no longer can meet anyone’s eyes.

 

Danny crosses back over to his mate’s side, picking up the six year old and settling her on his lap as he leans into this mate. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but he tells his mate he loves him through their bond with all the feeling he gives. Ethan relaxes his tense shoulders and curls into Danny.

 

“I love you too.” Ethan says and kisses Danny sweetly.

 

“Kisses!” Nia, formerly known as Butter, bursts out in giggles and claps her hands. She was an infant when her family’s life changed, so she knows nothing more than her inner wolf is pleased to be in this older boy’s presence, her alpha.

 

The six year old scowls at her loud sister’s shriek and yawns out. The long day has taken its toll on the girl. Hence the fight that got them kicked out of the house. Her brother had only been sleeping on the couch when the grumpy girl yelled at them for doing drawing on the couch, grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. When the red headed princess missed and hit her juice, spilling it all over the pretty carpet, she got madder and took the other pillow on the couch to swat at her and Nia. She slipped in her high heels, when she swung the pillow back and knocked the pretty vase to the floor. Then feel on the end table causing the lamp to fall. Nia and Meredith jumped away from the scary girl and in doing so lost her shoe. When the girl screamed about bad doggies, she threw her missing shoe at her. Meredith ducked her slow throw, but it didn’t miss the television. Dillan saw everything because it was too noisy to sleep with her bad words and quickly made them leave. They were just talking about running away because the house smelled like the dangerous alpha and the girl was scary, when the nice lady came back. She could feel her alpha coming close, so they waited even if Dillan was scared. She would protect him. 

 

Ethan looks over the children, “They have been living in the shadow for three years now. No papers, no trail, if Adam stuck to the plan. Dillan probably hasn’t stepped a foot in school since kindergarten, the girls were too young. Why they were headed to Beacon Hills, I have no idea.”

 

“Daddy said that there was a pack for us to join ‘cause I was too rambo-unctious without my alpha to ground me, but now we found our real alpha.” Meredith processes this. “Daddy died... Can we stay with you? Please don’t make us go to the Hales!”

 

Melissa watches the child roll into a submissive position in the alphas lap, while her legs drape over Danny’s lap. Nia climbs on Ethan’s back to hug him and Ethan is melting under their touch. Dillan rustles out from Melissa hug and stops right in front of the alpha. He is crying, long tear tracks rolling down his face and onto the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department shirt he is borrowing. His breath hitches when Ethan looks up to his face. Melissa expects the boy to scream at Ethan and throw a punch, given his clenched fists at his sides, but the child just flings his arms wide in a hug and falls onto the werewolf pile without a word.

 

Of all the children, Dillan remembers that scary day the most. He doesn’t have the werewolf abilities to know when the alpha power passes hands, but he remembers this great sense of dread when his cousin who was supposed to be with Mom at his house came over alone. His cousin was always with his brother and it scared him. He was always so angry and mean to all the adults, he was cold to the kids, but he didn’t get scary like his Aiden got around them.

 

He couldn’t look away from the blood all over his cousin’s shirt. He just remembers sitting there at the table and watching his father cry at what his cousin said. He had never seen his Dad do that before. He never cried again, until today in the car when he told him to be brave and that he loved him always. And then Daddy died too and he was hurt. His sisters stayed with him though because the nice lady, Melissa, said it was okay. She had told him he was brave just like his dad. And the Sheriff said he was brave. And now he’s got to be brave and let his cousin know.

 

“Ethan you are brave,” he whispers into his cousin’s ear and the older boy gives him a gentle hug to avoid his cuts and doesn’t let go for a long time.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Heartfelt warmth spreads over the tangled group; the pain filled tightness relaxes and heals the wolves. Her rays push away their fatigue and fill them with contentment. Never in her life as a werewolf has Cora felt anything, but a tickle of madness in the moon’s presence. Now she feels the shelter and warmth of a mother. The group unfolds and drifts apart as each being attempts to expose all their limbs to her light.

 

Stiles begins to dance in the bright moonlight, raising all the others to join in half dance half playful tumbling. Derek’s heart is whole as he tackles Scott into a wolf sandwich with Petey, the packs new name for Peter because they can’t continue to call him The Wolf formerly known as Peter. Derek laughs at how much Peter the werewolf had detested the nick name, Petey, so it was perfect.

 

Derek bathes in the light. He is healed and so happy. He no longer feels like a tortured shell that has slowly been crumbling apart each day since his ill fated love for his high school crush Paige. The tortured soul Kate Argent left behind is gone. He is one, whole because of the twirling boy that dances with wolves.

 

Stiles stops spinning to look directly into Derek’s eyes. He steps closer and Derek takes one step closer each match the others step in a dance that draws the lovers into a heated embrace. The others spin clockwise in dance around the couple. The moon’s light amplifies and the wind rushes the heady scent of moon flowers. A rush of euphoria and he feels the youth bloom in their shared heat.

 

Derek rocks back from Stiles in fear. A painful memory of a flowering maiden from a past life and the consequences flashes before his eyes. This development means that Stiles’ death is close. Lunar flowers don’t flower long; Derek needs to get him to Paradise and soon if he is to save his mate’s life.

 

“It’s alright Derek, this is this is what I want.” Stiles softly kisses Derek and steps back to show Derek their moment has opened the path to Paradise.

 

The wolves all around them have stilled to look in wonder at the magic surrounding them. Moon flowers grow from the ground in a floral carpet before the chosen couple. The ethereal glow from the flowers light a path that rolls along the land and climbs deep into the mountains ahead of them.

 

“It’s the way to Paradise!” Scott yells and Isaac adds, “Just like the _Lunar Tome_ ’s pictures.”

 

“We found it Stiles!” Derek yells as he scoops up Stiles to twirl in a circle. “We’ll go to Paradise!” Deja vu tingles at Derek’s neck, but the joy of seeing the magic has him riding high.

 

“Let’s go!” Scott yells.

 

\-------------------------------------

 

Morrell says nothing as the two head back to the parking lot. The night is young, it took Morrell hours to find the plants necessary to heal and numb McCall’s burned feet enough to walk out of the burned land. He supposes he should feel thankful the druid didn’t leave him to burn to death in the surrounding forest fire, but he hardly can get past the fact that all this is her fault. Why the hell would she stop like that in the middle of the road where he would hit her? She’s pissed about her car. What the hell is he gonna say about his bashed up SUV to the FBI?

 

Things are hardly going to plan. He has been out of contact with his FBI team for too long. They are bound to have been evacuated by the Sheriff’s department. Base is only two miles from the source of the fire up a narrow canyon. No place to go if a fire caught, so the question is where his men would take the bastard, if he is even still alive. Jacobs may have overdosed the detainee not realizing the man drank heavily the night before. He heard his boy on the tapes, and if he had any idea his son would become such a pansy under the bitch’s care, he would have taken the little shit with him, teach him to act like a man. He has never witnessed an alpha that didn’t just take what he deserves. His son needs to toughen up or his little pack will end before it begins.

 

He gingerly traverses the river rocks as they cross the frigid water; the cold temperature is a blessing to his blistered feet. He is not looking forward to the rest of the uphill walk, but at least it is a short quarter mile then he’ll be free of this aggravating witch’s company.

 

Morrell is already above the gully waiting on him, when he hears a splash just behind him. He only partially gets his head whipped around when a giant shadow blocks the moonlight. He bites his tongue hard as he falls back into the water. A clawed hand lands on his chest pushing him under the water. His arms fly up to wrench the arm off him. His fingers tangle in wet matted fur and he screams. As if the blurry glow from the werewolf right eye wasn’t clue enough, the sharp teeth that reach in grab him by the neck do. He is going to die.

 

Instead the freakishly large alpha just holds his neck lightly in his teeth and removes his paw. He lift his head above the water. He coughs and splutters out the cold water and immediately begins to shiver.

 

“You Sentinel will drive.” The monster speaks.

 

“What?” McCall asks stupidly, whipping his head around looking for Morrell. He can’t see her anywhere; he must have soaked his brain because the werewolf looks like a wolf the more he focuses.

 

“Drive your SUV. We have some time to make up.” When the human just looks more confused, he growls down in his wet face, “You will do as your told tool and your druid charge has left you here for me. She will not save you. Now get up and march.”

 

“Shit, that witch!” McCall growls low and angrily, impressing the wolf.

 

“You are not her protector, otherwise you would be honored to die for her escape.”

 

“That witch is not my master! I’ll kill her for this, all of them.”

 

Gerard seems to think this man a gift. His power’s dulled by the inactive tattoo that marks him as the Council, but he is still useful. He gives his prisoner/peon a push and they make their way to the parking lot.

 

 

Morrell watches as the wolf leads the furious man away from the river. She hid down wind from the monster as she sensed his approach. She would never survive a battle with that monster. Even if the creature hid his injuries well, she knew he was hurt. Still, she could not use her depleted magic to subdue the monster. Save for one vial of green poison, she is defenseless and now stranded.

 

There is a very long walk ahead of her. She grumbles about not having a horde of fireflies to whisk her home. She misses Deaton. He would be useful right about now. So she starts to walk. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: emo canary Lydia, injuries, violence, minor character deaths (2), pack piles, protective derek, heart failure, recitation, reunion, kidnapping
> 
> OMG we are getting to the end of the horrendous never ending story! Thank goodness.

_I AM OK. SS_

 

_Safe.AA,DH,CH,IL,SM,Pwme._

_Donotcome.Amok._

 

_I am cold. Dont come._

 

_I Love U._

 

_Not Safe._

 

_Going to Paradise w Pack._

 

_Do not follow. Not safe._

 

The Sheriff is sitting at his temporary desk for a moment to sign some official papers to grant temporary power to his Undersheriff, while he is on injury leave. He isn’t focusing on the paperwork rather starring in a mixture of worry and wonder at his cell screen. Worry for his child’s safety and wonder that he had somehow missed the opportunity to teach his son proper emergency lingo. Because frankly the series of text sent from the PLB are in no way helpful to addressing the situation.

 

The first text to his cell phone is a generic message sent at 4:07 in the afternoon, just after the SOS beacon was activated. Another twelve minutes later with a warning that had the man thinking of doing the opposite when he finally was able to check his phone. But the man had contained himself, trusting that his boy knew they could handle it. His company being Alison Argent, Derek Hale, Cora Hale, Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall, and he guesses Peter, but that doesn’t make sense from what Lydia had later revealed. So he waited and it was a silent hour of nerves, until _I am cold. Dontcome_ and then quiet again.

 

It took everything in him to call search and rescue and tell them to ignore that PLB’s signal code. That he was in contact with the hiker, there was no emergency. He blamed the activation on the users misunderstanding of how the unit worked and that he would take better care to educate his staff when allowing people to use the instrument.

 

It doesn’t seem like the unit is working correctly. He has sent several pleas by text for more information. But Stiles never acknowledges his questions in his texts. Given the relay time and character limit they can’t just message every detail. The batteries life is also a consideration. Texting will deplete the unit’s life. So he just pours himself into his piles of work. Thankfully his Undersheriff gets to handle the press conference this evening. Judging by the immediately ringing phone and lit up panel of calls on hold the press is not happy with their cover boy that has called in a sub. ‘Vampires,’ Stilinski thinks and ignores the racket.

 

Almost on two hours pass before his phone beeped with a new message. He is busily processing various items that are overflow work from his staff. Twice Elise has come in to ask him to go home and rest. He won’t go home to the empty house and full bottle of whisky. His nerves are too shot to resist the temptation. He needs to help the understaffed office to keep his mind off his missing boy far away from the bottle. He reads the messages _I Love U_. He almost starts crying.

 

Melissa updates him on her end with her charges. He is pleased by the alpha’s acceptance of the little runts into his pack. He knows he owes the boy his life, so he won’t grill him too hard getting the full story. At least that is settled and he won’t have to play hunter to control the betas, not that he would ever hurt the children. There is no news of Chris Argent. His staff believes his father, Gerard Argent, has already killed the man. But the Sheriff looks around at the empty desk that had been procured by the FBI and wonders if they have anything to do with his disappearance. McCall and his minions have not been in all day. The call operator had reported the agents were in route to the hospital, but has not checked in since reporting the fire. Something is wrong there, but he hasn’t the time to deal with the FBI.

 

Morrell has gone missing as well. Judging by Ms. Martin’s growing talent, the woman is not dead, neither is Chris Argent if the redhead is to be believed. However Melissa reported that the girl had lost her voice completely when the so called Mother made another appearance for Deaton and Deaton is not coming back.

 

‘What is going on?’

 

The GPS mapping shows the change of location heading further east into the mountains from the last message. What the hell is the “paradise”? Is this even Stiles messaging him? He has no answers, but he intends to find out.

 

Elise reappears with a hot meal of take out and a sheepish look. He just motions her in, tuning out her apology and thanks her for her thoughtfulness. He hasn’t eaten all day and he’ll need the strength to get through the night. He is going after Stiles. Elise looks pleased her apology is accepted and turns to go. Really he didn’t mean to yell at her, he should be the one to apologize.

 

Hours earlier, he had only stepped through the glass door, when the Elise the afternoon deputy assigned to the front desk looked up from her phone call to see the Sheriff for the first time since he went missing. Elise clearly shocked at the change in her boss, yelled out, “What the hell happened to you!” causing the rest of entire office to turn and drop their jaws just like Elise’s. From behind him, a deputy came rushing in from the parking lot, too excited to notice his company and blurts out to Elise, “Who’s the poor fucker the Sheriff is going to reem for that damaged wreck?” 

 

Everyone dropped their work, including telephone calls, to run to the window in curiousity.

 

The Sheriff was bright red in embarrassment. He had hoped to let things slide by and quietly fill out the damage report, but now everyone in the office knows about the SUV. He was also mad that he heard various voices on the forgotten lines, “Hello? Hello? Is any one there? I have an emergency!”

 

“That would be me.”

 

“Er... Well good job on the press conference.” The deputy had tried to suck up when he noticed the bruised Sheriff was the one to answer his question.

 

“Thanks. Now get your unprofessional asses back to your work!” He glared at Elise and the deputy and stomped angrily to his office and slammed the door.

 

He hasn’t been out since. Judging by the way his staff dances around him and won’t meet his eyes when they come to ask questions or deliver more paperwork, they are just as ready for the angry Sheriff to leave as he is.

 

He finishes his meal, grabs his hat and coat. He heads out into the general desk area, the staff has changed shift since he came in during the afternoon, but clearly his workers have been warned not to upset the man further. He thanks them for their hard work, tells them to relay the message to the crew he yelled at earlier, and leaves to find his kid. Warnings be damned, he’ll find out what’s going on.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Stiles, no.”

 

“What? Why not?” Stiles bounces around and fiddles with the mirrors of the grey van adjusting them to his height, folding down the visor for the keys.

 

It’s too easy and that’s what worries the white wolf. “You can’t just take a car.” Derek looks over the van the group came across. It’s not exactly abandoned, but the last people to use it left confusing scents.

 

“For the last time we are borrowing it! You don’t expect me to run all that way.” Stiles points off to the distant lit path under the moonlight, miles and miles deep into the mountains.

 

“We’re wolves. No self respecting wolf would ride in a car when we can run under the moon…” Derek stops talking when he sees that Petey and Scott are fighting over the window seat. Both try to snap the other’s face off in order to claim the best seat for feeling the fresh wind on their coats and the great smells of the road. They manage to wedge their thick necks stuck in the partially open window. Stiles quickly turns the van’s battery on to lower the window, so the wolves don’t choke themselves. Petey finally gives in to the alpha and moves to the middle on the bench seat so he can watch out the dash. Derek’s jaw just drops.

 

This isn’t how it went the last time he went through this absurd journey. Then Derek recalls how exhausted he and the misfit group of four wolves and flower maiden all tiredly searched the barren landscape for food and shelter on the journey to Paradise. He’s beginning to see how a little car ride might keep him fit for what ever is to come.

 

Isaac leaps into the van and snuggles up close to Alison behind the driver’s seat.

 

“Yeah well I am a delicate flower and I don’t want to run all over northern CA. I am like an internal GPS, Derek, we both know just because the moon’s not up we can find Paradise. Time is of the essence.”

 

“You are hardly weak, Stiles.” Derek argues.

 

“Besides Derek, the van smells like my dad and Scott’s dad, they’ll understand we needed it.” Alison yawns, even though the moon makes her want to sing and dance. She is exhausted trying to understand and coordinate her movements as a new wolf. She could deal with a car ride if it means she gets some sleep. Keeping watch over their injured group, while they waited for the moonrise was nerve wrecking.

 

“You guys are so lazy.” Derek snaps at the teenagers all nesting in the best spots. He’s missed his chance for trying to keep his pride, now he is just jealous.

 

“Teenagers dude. Get in.”

 

Cora runs her hand through Derek’s white coat gently. “Come on Derek, the pack needs rest, I’ve had enough of the woods today.”

 

He gives her hand a soft lick. She motions for him to hop in through the side door. He grumbles, but acquiesces to the group’s wishes. The door slides shut. Cora opens the front passenger door and ducks under Scott, shutting the door behind her, and then smashes herself in between Scott and Petey on the front bench.

 

Stiles arms are pinned to his side. There is no way he can drive like this. “Someone is going to have to move from the front.”

 

Scott’s answer is to give a fierce snap at Petey. Petey yowls and hops over the seat to the back. He whimpers, not in pain, but petulance. The alpha just settles in by leaning more out the window panting in excitement and wagging his tail in triumph. “Car ride, car ride, car ride.”

 

Cora and Stiles meet eyes at the alpha wolf’s antics and start laughing.

 

“Dude, your laugh is like music!” Scott yips in joy, then immediately the ears fall in embarrassment. “It is so wrong to be so attracted to my best friend like this. Let’s hurry up and get there so I stop saying embarrassing shit like that.” Scott mumbles. He catches Derek’s glowing eyes in the side mirror, he scents Derek’s jealousy and anger that another wolf finds his mate attractive. He gulps and just whines, “Not that I’m attracted to Stiles, he just is like a really comforting and warm and smells like goodness...like my mom,” He finishes lamely.

 

Everyone looks over at the rambling wolf. He finally realizes what he is saying and sinks further on the seat until his bulky form is trying to hide under the dash. All the wolves start laughing at Scott.

 

“Momma’s boy,” Isaac calls from under Allison’s paw.

 

Petey ever the opportunist tries to slip back into the vacated window seat behind the alpha, but retreats from Scott’s snapping jaws. Petey’s claws tear through the upholstery and stuffing to the bare metal support in his hurry. Cora and Stiles stare at the damage. Then Stiles shrugs and puts the van into drive, “They won’t mind.”

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

The Sheriff makes it out to his usual patrol car and finds the vehicle holds two occupants. He groans, “Get out,” even when he knows that it is useless to argue with the two strong women.

 

“We won’t let you go alone,” Melissa starts, then pauses because telling the man he is going to die is not easy.

 

The Sheriff is a smart man; he sees the dried tear tracks and running mascara that messes up Melissa’s face. Her face is pinched in worry. The Sheriff looks to the back seat at the grim look Lydia hides by her downturned face. She won’t even meet his eyes. By the way she bites her lip and her eyes fill with moisture, he can guess he is the next.

 

He takes a moment to gather his resolve and then drops into the well worn driver’s seat. “Let’s go then.”

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Jacobs is no longer his attentive medic, with the slapping and general rouse, instead he is in full hunter mode. Being that Williams is dead and there is no need to act. Jacobs stops ten meters ahead and signals Chris to stop.

 

Chris crotches lower in his stance. He is still breathing more loudly than he would like, the side effects of the drug causing his fine tuned skills to falter now and then, but at least they haven’t caused him to die, yet.

 

Hours earlier, they had sat a long time in the parking lot waiting for McCall to appear. Williams was too focused on his stake out to realize Argent was faking his illness. Jacobs was just as absorbed in the oddity of the situation, he didn’t perpetuate the lie. Agent Jacobs was probably thanking the gods that he had real support. While Williams was an excellent agent in the field, Jacobs didn’t want to deal with his handicap. A lack of understanding of all things supernatural does not fit well when the biggest wolf-like-monster Jacob’s has ever seen pops up right behind you.

 

Williams had felt the need to follow McCall’s tracks into the woods and off the path, so the three abandoned the sedan and plan to go to the hospital. They had argued about Argent’s ability to keep pace. Williams wanted to handcuff him to the inside of the car. Jacobs, obviously more aware of Argent’s actual state, had successfully argued to keep the wiley detainee close. With guns drawn and a handcuffed prisoner, the three had followed the bloody trail of two sets of prints into the preserve.

 

They had no trouble following the trail, until they hit the river and couldn’t find where the two had exited the water. Perhaps they walked down the creek bed, but given the depth and one of the person’s injuries, the agents had guessed that was unlikely.

 

Chris agreed, but stayed silent. In general Chris did nothing not wanting to call attention to himself, but also to test Jacobs’ skills. Chris wanted this brilliant young man in his outfit. He was gold, and Chris had no intention to let go of his treasure. If he couldn’t get Stiles, then he would have Jacobs.

 

The smell of smoke grew heavier in the gully, until the area became a haze. Chris was coughing into the shirt he was wearing. His wrists handcuffed in front made it difficult to hold the fabric to his face and crawl along the ground. The blaze came out of nowhere, conditions going from bad to worse. He barely could make out the hulking figure in the thick smoke popping up right in front of the group. The afternoon’s light disappearing into an evening glow igniting the orange haze red. Appropriately, the sunset’s a brilliant color shifting to match the burst of blood squirting out of Williams’ headless neck. The body still standing rigid as the monster cracked through the skull like a bursting melon.

 

Jacobs, who was right behind him on the ground, yanked him up to standing. Spinning him around to run, Chris didn’t get a chance to grab the service weapon from the dead man’s grasp. Though it is very unlikely that a gun would slow a titan like that, just delay the inevitable.

Chris and Jacobs in their mad dash to escape and limited visibility ended up lost in the woods. As the disoriented pair trudged through the dense dark forest, both were relieved and concerned dense smoke was vanishing. They could see and breathe easier, but the creature would be able to scent them from farther away. Their worried minds never need to be bothered because the beast never came after them. It must have been happy with its meal of Williams’ corpse.

 

Hours pass and the wary men still walk trying to find a vantage point or landmark to reorient. The night is growing cold and the woods begin to lighten as the moon rises. The howls of wolves crescendos as the moon grows higher into the night sky, until they break chorus and yip happily to their mother in greeting. Chris had no idea that the area had a natural pack is living here. “Amazing,” Chris wonders out loud, joy and a spark of fear tingling down his back as he listens to their song. In his many years as a huntsman, he has heard and seen wolves across the northern hemisphere’s forests, but never has he actively felt so alive in their presence. He feels like he wants to shed his clothes and join in the festivities; his very being seething in his restlessness to break his hiding spot and join the pack in their song. He forces himself to contain the urge as he picks up the sound of a creature walking through pine needles. This sound is what Jacobs must have picked up on further ahead and warned Chris.

 

Both men stand utterly still. Jacobs’ gun drawn and ready, suddenly flies out of his hand as if pulled by an invisible hand. Then it clicks in Argent’s mind the magic used to disarm the man, means loads more trouble than a simple creature of the night.

 

Jacobs gives a gasp at the shock that stripped the gun from his hand. He has never felt the ions of magic sizzle his own skin before, but he has heard the older men’s stories, a witch. A small form melts out of the dark. “Shit,” Jacobs jumps back from the surprise.

 

“Argent,” Morrell’s voice calls the man.

 

“Druid,” Chris’ cold voice returns, though he really should be thanking the woman. She saved his daughter in the bank vault. “Ms. Morrell,” he tries for a warmer tone, but in his smoke damaged throat, it just sounds gruff.

 

She gets their situation because she throws the gun back to Argent. Chris fumbles with the catch, his handcuffs are still attached. Williams put them on too tight to squeak out of and the key is still in the dead man’s pocket. Chris in an effort to show his trust of Jacobs tosses the gun to him.

 

The druid seems to accept the gesture. She gestures to the cuffs, now that she knows the stranger is not in fact a captor, but an alli. Her hand glows and magic vibrates the metal cuff joints until the small hinges break and the pieces fall to the ground.

 

Jacobs is still a little wary, but sees that his idol trusts the woman enough to lay down his weapon and let the woman use magic so close to him, so he tucks the gun into its holster.

 

All three in the party study the others’ injuries, blood stains, and general exhaustion. Everyone seems to come to a silent agreement that they would band together. Morrell does a small spell and a glowing sparrow flies to a branch ahead. She starts to follow and motions them to follow.

 

“Quite a day.” Morrell says in the silence. “You wouldn’t happen to have keys to your vehicle?”

 

Jacobs looks around for the car, hope fading as he realises they are not anywhere near a parking lot. “You were going to steal our car?”

 

“Yes, but now you are here; you can give me a lift. Let’s go.” She turns her back on the pair. The men follow her dark red back all the way.

 

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The sheriff follows the blipping SOS signal north and east out of town along the winding canyon highway. They are headed deeper into the mountains. He thought his son making incredible time on foot, until he realized that the boy was following the road awfully close and fast.

 

The PLB will allow SAR to track the signal to two hundred meters, with a ten minute delay, so it took the Sheriff to get a better understanding of the situation. The math genius sitting the back of the cruiser was the one to point out the change of direction and median speed would indicate Stiles was in a vehicle, whipping around these very turns.

 

He doesn’t bring up the girl’s boyfriend. He knows she is upset, but he can’t seem to be in the mood to bring up the topic of death. Not so close to his preordained death. He really can’t wrap that around his mind. He will die trying to get to Stiles or sometime this night. He just hopes it will be after he has found his boy alive and safe before his time is up.

 

He flips his lights on in frustration, tired of following the slow semi making its way up the steep grade of the pass. He doesn’t have time to wait for slow traffic he can feel the signal pulsing under him he is so close. He apologizes silently for abusing the power that comes with emergency lights, but he can’t slow down now. He is right there on that x marked treasure map of the GPS signal. He zooms around the truck that has pulled over to allow the Sheriff to pass and his beams turn onto the vehicle ahead of him his pulse races.

 

‘Adam Lincoln Nora three oh three, gray van.’ The stolen vehicle reportedly used in the kidnapping of Chris Argent. He watches the van swerve as the driver notices his police tail.

 

“Gotcha,” Stilinski thinks the circumstances of the blipping SOS signal in the vicinity and the appearance of the van to be no coincident; they must have his kid too.

 

He sounds his siren and flips his light to indicate he wants the vehicle to pull over. The van’s brake lights glow red as the van slows, then the driver must change his/her mind because the van accelerates in a bolt. The sheriff gives chase. He pulls the speaker to his mouth and yells for the vehicle to pull over.

 

Surprisingly the van complies with promptness. The van slams on the brakes and skids off the shoulder and into the woods. The driver’s sudden change of mind surprises the Sheriff, so much that his Sheriff’s car almost backends the van as he follows it off road. Thank god the canyon walls are distant at this spot on the mountain road otherwise the van would have slammed into the rocks.

 

The door on the driver’s side flies open and the Sheriff is reaching for his weapon by instinct. He throws his door open and stands behind the shield, pointing the gun on the figure running at him. He fires a warning shot near the assailant’s feet, which stops the figure in his tracks.

 

“Dad!”

 

“Oh shit.” He almost shot his own son. His pounding heart raises and he quickly drops his gun from his shaking hand. A loud shattering sound comes from the van. Blinded by the squad car's headlights, the Sheriff only has second to see the shadows converge on him and he is knocked to the ground and pinned under the snarling and snapping weight of two wolves.

 

“Holy shit, Petey off! Derek! What the hell? That’s my dad!” Stiles screams at the wolves attacking his father.

 

Petey stills at his pack mate’s call. This two-legged-meat smells kind of like sweet-smelling-two-legged-flower-not-meat and kind of like pack. He whines and gives one last thrash to the meat’s thick hide (canvas jacket) and releases the two-legged-meat. His wolf ears still hurt from the loud sound and he is sick from the thing that carried his pack around. He doesn’t understand why everyone is upset. His pack mate went to take down the meat to defend his mate. He was just helping his pack.

 

Derek’s white paws keep the struggling man down. He growls out, Stiles was almost shot by this man. He had leapt through the back window to try and get to the threat, but he was too late and the officer had gotten off a shot. He hears his mate yelling at him, but he is too far gone in the rage this warm body under him almost killed his mate. He snaps instinctually at the threat’s throat missing at the last second as his mate yanks his body back. He sees from the corner of his eyes the multicolored form of the alpha lunging at him. They roll off the downed man and into the bushes, taking Stiles who is grasping his waist, with them.

 

Rustling around in the bush to try and position himself into a proper defense, Derek fights Scott’s tight hold on his neck. Stiles grabs him by the fur at any place he can reach. When his tail gets a hard tug, he begins to realize his mate is alive and right there with him.

 

“Derek, I’m fine!” Stiles screams punching the struggling wolf in the nose. Derek gives a whine, but the pain shocks him out of his rage.

 

“Stiles,” He pulls his mate to him. Sniffing, through his aching nose for his flower maiden’s blood. Stiles is bit scratched from the bush, but has no bullet holes in him. “You’re okay.” Then Derek realizes he attacked his wolf-married-father-in-law. “Shit, I couldn’t control… is your dad alright?”

 

“You almost killed my dad Derek.” Stiles coldly tells Derek. He shoves Derek back into the bush and turns his back to him to check his father’s condition.

 

Derek just lays there on top of a trapped Scott and takes a moment to collect himself. He has never lost his awareness as fast as those two seconds his mate was in trouble. He can’t even use the excuse that he didn’t know who the officer was. The minute Stiles heard that his father’s voice, he screamed his dad’s name and complied with the flashing lights to pull over. He gave up on his stupid plan to try and outrun a high powered cruiser in the van and threw the vehicle to the shoulder all the wolves thought they were going to crash. Granted Stiles should have planned his exit from the van better, running at the Sheriff so erratically should earn him a taste of warning pain. Derek hears Stiles wails out for his father and he finally moves off of Scott and cautiously trots over to the hunched figures.

 

Stiles is at the Sheriff’s chest and Melissa cradles the man’s head. Lydia martin is standing with Cora elevating a leg each about a foot off the ground. The Sheriff is not breathing. He is in shock from cardiac arrest.

 

“Oh no,” Derek gasps. He hears no heartbeat from the prone man. He whimpers this is his fault. Warm bodies surround Derek smelling his guilt and shame. Scott stands to one side Allison is next to him. Petey on his other side, but little Isaac is curled to Stiles side. They watch as Melissa and Stiles work in rhythm of breathing a chest pumps.

 

“Lydia I need you to go to the back of the squad car and find the first aid kit, bring the portable defibrillator!” Melissa yells. Stiles and her jobs are too important to interrupt if they have any chance of saving the Sheriff.

 

“That’s it! Lydia get the kit, but stay away for a moment, let me try something.” Stiles screams. He doesn’t know with Lydia’s anti-magic, if being near will prevent his Spark from working, but he’ll try any way. Without changing his pressure and keeping the same pace he begins to focus on believing. Believing his father will live, that they will smile and laugh about almost shooting him because he changed his hair or got wolf-married. They will laugh together seventy years in the future. Not that he ran at an officer from an unidentified vehicle like violent suspect. Stiles concentrates and believes that his father’s heart will begin beating bringing rich oxygen to his internal organs. Fresh blood to his brain, his lungs his fill and expel the growing levels of carbon dioxide. That he will take just a day to relax, not because of his heart attack, but all the other injuries he has accumulated he needs some time to recover. Stiles believes that his heart and blood pressure will be stronger healthier than before. He just believes and his spark does the rest.

 

The Sheriff comes out of shock with a lurch. The man takes his first breath on his own and finds his son’s changed eyes as he falls back onto Melissa lap. Relief pours over the entire group.

 

Melissa is goes through all the checks and orders the werewolves and humans with prehensile thumbs to grab various supplies from the car. When the Sheriff is covered with a blanket and as comfortable as he can be lying on the cold ground, everyone gives into their emotions. A giant pile of humans, wolves, werewolf and flower maiden all celebrate the return of the Sheriff’s life, whose heart had stopped for two minutes.

 

Lydia curls into Stiles side twirling her hand through his new violet curls telling Stiles about her day and her loss on her phone. While Stiles simply holds her in empathy, he retells their night and day as newly chosen contestants on the game show called Paradise. He can tell his father has some idea of the terrors his last 24 hours have been because the man only makes a few comments. Apparently Morrell and Lydia have him up to speed. Stiles just can’t stop smiling. He is talking to his father, his living father while they wait for the ambulance to arrive up the mountain pass.

 

Derek is silent at the girl’s attention and placement next to his mate. Stiles is still upset with him and rightly so. At least the boy hasn’t completely shut him out, the bond is open, but still no loving waves of comfort or forgiveness come his way.Derek can only take comfort in the fact that at least Stiles is still there holding his heart. Had his father died, he is not sure if Stiles would ever forgive him.

 

The Sheriff wasn’t actually maimed in the moment Derek lost his senses. The Sheriff sustained bruises and torn clothes, but no punctures. He would suggest he get shots being so close to Petey, but he doesn’t think his joke would go over well. It appears that the fright or Derek’s weight on his chest caused Stilinski failing heart to finally give. There were no broken bones, but the heavy abuse and chest pumps will probably leave the area sore.

 

Derek listens to the pulse of the Sheriff’s heart it is strong and clearer than ever before. His mate is so strong magically. ‘Stiles you did it.’ He opens the mind link not expecting an answer, just Stiles coldness. He almost cries when a soft push of gold warmth melts away the frozen bond. ‘Stiles I am so sorry,’ Derek pleads.

 

Stiles turns his head from Lydia to look into the clear blue eyes of his mate. He smiles slightly and says “I know you are,” out loud for all to hear.

 

Derek’s beautiful white tail thumps slightly in the dirt and he nuzzles Stiles under his chin and rests back from his stretch and returns to his place between Cora and Isaac.

 

“Why the hell did you take that van? Of all the vehicles around the preserve you chose the stolen van all officers on the western coast know to BOLO? You are so lucky I was the one to pull you over. When you came running like that…” The Sheriff drops the part where all the unhappiness began.

 

“The cops already know we _borrowed_ the van?” Stiles gives Derek the stink eye. The white wolf was the one who never wanted anything to do with the thing and his smugness isn’t helping.

 

“No, Son. Chris Argent was last seen being manhandled into the van by unknown suspects after a quick skirmish in broad daylight this morning.”

 

“My dad was kidnapped?” The Sheriff, Melissa, and Lydia all take a second to look at the brown wolf who hasn’t spoken or been acknowledged this whole time.

 

“Allison, how are you a wolf? We get Scott, Isaac, Derek, even Peter, but why you?”

 

“It’s Petey, the wolf formerly known as Peter. Peter the human is digested at this point, but I’ll tell you all about that later. What happened to Mr. Argent?” Scott asks.

 

The Sheriff goes on to say nothing really. When Isaac mentions the two familiar scents from the vehicle the Sheriff looks livid. So does Scott.

 

“Easy dad, no need to get your heart rate up.” Stiles squirms to hold Scott close so he doesn’t run off to kill his dad.

 

“We really don’t know half the shit that’s happened to the pack and allies. All we know is we have nothing to do with the forest fire and we have neither seen Morrell nor Deaton. Nothing about Chris and Agent McCall either.” Derek says.

 

“Actually,” Cora begins, “When Ger...ard,” she hiccups trying to say the monsters name. Lydia knows nothing of the attempted rape, but recognizes the absolute fear in the woman’s demeanor holds out her hand to gently stroke her arm. Cora continues, “When we were following your path, an accident occurred on the county road. Gerard had me pressed against a tree so I would be seen. He seemed agitated that a woman didn’t happen to die from the crash. She had been driving a silver or grey jeep by the quick glimpse I caught before he threw me out of view.”

 

Lydia holds the screen to Cora and she reads Lydia’s message. “That was Morrell jeep. It was parked at the vet.” She taps out a second message and holds for Scott to see. “He is not dead. Just different.”

 

Stiles eyes start watering and he can only focus on one part of Lydia’s message. He turns to his dad and leans over him. He kisses the lines in his father’s forehead, avoiding the goose egg bump carefully. Stiles turns his head to the side and whispers in his father’s ear. “You knew and you still came. Please don’t ever do that again.” His soggy tears are rolling off his nose into his father’s greying hair. I love you too much to let you come after me, Dad.” he sniffles and decides to get it over with, while his father is in no condition to shoot his mate. “I have new protector. Derek is my mate.”

 

“I kinda figured that out earlier when he almost tore out my throat,” the Sheriff pauses to make Derek squirm. “I get it, Derek, so don’t give me the excuses. Just watch over him for me.”

 

“Stiles you are grounded!” Melissa calls out to the boy, “Not for your choice in Derek, but because you chose to tell your father, who just suffered a major heart attack, that you’re married. Idiot, he doesn’t need any more shocks.”

 

The screeching tires of a car stopping on the highway alert everyone to the danger. Whiffs to the air have all the wolves scrambling to form a defense. Gerard Argent’s wolf body saunters from the dark shadows of the surrounding woods accompanied by the growls that are becoming his personal soundtrack. His red eye glows dangerously taking each being in as he walks closer. His eyes land on Stiles and Cora huddled over a man protectively, he gives them extra attention, and leering at Cora.

 

“Excellent, a family reunion. What better way to celebrate the end of this world, old ties and such, to make way for new. I also brought a surprise. Scott and Melissa must be lonely without their father and husband. Ex husband, but at least its better than potato salad. Those things are always rotten at this type of thing. I am afraid that I missed Chris back in the woods, but his companion made a fine meal. I just couldn’t be bothered. Would have made a real party, right Allison? But I guess you’ll just have to settle with your old Pop-pop.”

 

“The only thing I want to settle with you is your funeral arrangements, you sick bastard. You’ll pay for all this, we’ll make you pay!” Allison screams and charges forward.

 

Scott and Isaac flank her frontal attack taking the monster’s sides. It is only a short half minute before all three are pushed back from Gerard. Derek and Cora take over where the other’s left off giving Stiles, Melissa, and Lydia the time they need to move his father to the back seat of the cruiser. Stiles shoves Lydia in the front seat followed by Melissa. Cora gets knocked into the vehicle’s side. She hits her head hard and wobbles dazedly trying to right herself. Stiles thinks this fortunate because there is no way he could get her to willingly leave the fight. He manhandles her into the cruiser before the girl can resist. She stumbles in across Melissa’s and Lydia’s laps. He yells at them to drive. Meet the paramedics lower and do not return. Do not let Cora return. He will not let that man hurt her anymore.

 

Lydia back’s the cruiser up. It takes all the wolves struggling to pin Gerard down, to keep him from stopping the cruiser. Stiles can see Lydia’s bright eyes wide in fear, but she keeps her cool and manages to turn the car around, before accelerating out of sight.

 

“You’ll pay for that flower maiden!”

 

Watching his father’s cruiser disappear has distracted Stiles enough that Gerard is now over him. He has only a second to see the frightened faces of his wolf friends, before his head is pounding against the ground. On his head’s bounce back up his eyes roll back and he doesn’t even feel the savage bite to his shoulder. He just knows darkness.

 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

McCall is slumped over the steering wheel, with a heavy head wound. Still fresh given the copious blood and brain matter oozing from his partially caved in skull. It looks like he hit his forehead to the SUV’s steering column. “Strange that the airbag didn’t deploy,” Jacobs remarks.

 

“He would have needed them to be reset after the crash with Morrell. They probably failed.” Chris watches the still form of the conniving bastard that has made his life hell.

 

“Or he wasn’t in an accident and someone else did this to him. Listen to the woods. I sense nonhuman blood on the wind.” Morrell glides away from the black SUV with the dead agent.

 

Chris doesn’t even want to think what this means for him, if the agent’s death is foul play. Somehow the bastard’s death will be blamed on him further incriminating him in the agent’s scheme.Chris doesn’t even bother with the agent’s weapon. He hits the power lock button to unlock the tailgate. He uses his shirt to keep his fingerprints off the tail latch. Jacobs mentioned that his hidden weapons McCall and the other agents had stripped from his naked body were placed in this vehicle. Luck for once in this horrible day. He quickly rustles around the gear and comes up with his tools of trade. Jacobs smirks as he watches his hero don his gear. Chris tosses an extra knife to Morrell, who is drained, but still insists she has her uses. Jacobs’ gun is full and he carries an extra clip.

 

He is just about to shut the back, when Chris hand hits a groove in the trunk’s floor boards. Not a spare tire, those are mounted under the vehicles belly, it is a hidden compartment. “Jackpot,” Chris grins like a child at a haul of Halloween candy, only a lot more maniacal. He found dead agent’s Sentinel gear; bows, broadswords, knives, guns, and bullets.

 

All three outfit a bit better and march to meet the madness of battle with confidence.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Lydia Martin, turn this fucking car around,” Cora screams at the red head.

 

Lydia just gets that stubborn chilling look and turns to her friend. “You shut your mouth, right now! I know what Stiles felt back there, what I felt back there. There are things far worse than death. And that monster had all of them in store for you. Do not insult me and tell me you could handle that.”

 

Cora’s lips tremble. The adrenaline leaving her tight stressed body riddles her nerves. “He… I will not run from that monster, he’ll pay! Take me back! He’ll kill them all, my pack. Stiles will die!” She turns around to plead at the Sheriff.

 

“Stop yelling Cora, it’s bad for his condition.” Melissa snaps then returns to the radio.

 

Melissa is on the radio directing dispatch to inform the ambulance they are moving to meet them. At first the dispatcher is reluctant and advises them to wait for the medics. Then the dispatcher checks in with the EMT team in route. They are delayed by the fire crossing the highway. Melissa ever the controlled nurse, pulls out a few hardened swear words the Sheriff blushes at from the back seat. The fire is likely to back burn until it moves uphill on both shoulders of the road. Until that time the crew can’t get through. It also means the Sheriff’s squad car won’t make it either. “Shit,” Melissa folds into herself and starts to cry.

 

“Shh take it easy Melissa, I am ok, whatever Stiles did is working, I’ll be fine. I’m just tired.” The Sheriff wishes he could join her in sobbing out his worries, but stoic men don’t cry out loud. Tears pool in the eyes and he feels the familiar sting of smoke begin to exacerbate the tearing. He’ll blame it on the smoke later, not that he has to leave his boy behind.

 

Cora is starting to settle, Lydia is still tense and driving like a pro, but she has to slow down now and then to ease the car around downed rocks the transportation crew hasn’t gotten too. 

 

Radio dispatch clicks through connecting Melissa to the EMT, she relays his stats and condition. They agree the flight for life is unnecessary given the Sheriff’s remarkable condition and delay to divert the chopper from the airspace about 45 miles away. Medical choppers are still conducting rescue operations in the Grian Lake area, it’s first come first serve and there is a backup of requests. The ambulance will get to him faster even with the delay. The paramedics advise them to pull off the highway, before descending into valley where the smoke is the thickest to wait. The less time they are exposed to heavy smoke the better.

 

Usually fires dampen down at night, given minimal wind conditions and type of fuel source, so the activity firefighters are working in Beacon Hills tonight is not normal. Lydia is processing and she wonders if the fires are supernatural like the vision of Deaton burning. She just hope it’s not some kinda magical inferno because dam if she knows what to do about it. Morrell is no where to help and Styles is the only other magic user she knows. She just focuses on the road and turns the cruiser around to climb a bit higher out of the smoke. When she deems it safe she and the others sit at a makeout point watching the valley bellow burn.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek stumbles in his injured state. His legs tangle under him and he can no longer keep his body moving he falls into a tree well and sinks deep in the snow pack. A flashback to the dying white wolf in the frigid land haunts him. Again his very being has failed the tortuous cycle of rebirth only to lose his love in the end. The wolf rolls to his side the air misting in front of his cold nose. He is so injured he doesn’t feel the cold mountain night.

 

He groans out for his mate and the bond urging him forward to the boy. He can no longer smell the lunar flowers from Stiles. Gerard has made much better time in the blizzard while carrying the weight of his unconscious mate. He is failing in his promise the Sheriff. He is failing his love to protect him from evil.

 

A great gust of wind collects the newly fallen snow and whips it harshly into his face. Derek chokes on the frigid crystals that burn his lungs. He tries to fold into a ball, tucking his nose under his tail to conserve heat while he rests, but the cold wind blasts him again rocking his body and urging him up.

 

He will not make it through the night bleeding so heavily and the moonlight is blocked by the blizzards clouds he can not heal. He sustained himself this far on willpower alone. He left the others to Chris Argent’s care. He would not abandon his mate to the cruelty of that monster. They had begged him to wait for them, but he knew they could go no further.

 

The fight was vicious. Even when the reinforcement of a druid scraping the last drudge of magic in her store and two hunters, the beast destroyed them. The last shot from the druid did nothing. The arrow pierced shallowly, missing all vital spots. The monster swiped at the lodged arrow like it was a mosquito smearing the green fluid into the monster’s matted coat.

 

Morrell had been the one to beg for mercy, that he just leave and take his prize, let them live. Had Derek, been able to move he would have ripped the words from her throat. She had seemed pleased with her work when Gerard hauled his mate over his back roughly and bound off into the dark forest. Derek had howled in anguish, cursing her and all of them for keeping him down, while the druid cleansed his wounds.

 

He was frothing foam in his panic that his mate bond grew longer and longer in distance. He had snapped at his captors, nearly severing someone’s neck, before the druid told the hands to release him. “The goddess has chosen this task for him, let’s see if he is worthy.”

 

He ran on no fuel, but his belief in Stiles and their Paradise. Even as Scott, Allison and Petey howled for his return to the pack, while Isaac’s soft clear howl remained silent. The pup was severely injured by Gerard. As Derek fled, the pup remained unconscious in the hunter’s arms. His mates crowding the stranger, as Jacobs worked to stop the bleeding.

 

A howl of wind tunneling through a cavity catches the white wolfs attention. ‘Shelter.’ Derek cold joints pop as he shifts his weight to his back legs to jump out of the tree well. He stumbles with his eyes closed and focusing on the sound. There, tucked behind the boulder and boards is an open cave. He scrambles through the boards to climb into the hollow. The wind and blizzard immediately dampen in intensity. Derek sighs in relief.

 

He tries to breathe through his injuries, until he at least can find a comfortable position to rest. His hind leg steps back to support his shifting weight and find no purchase. It only takes the wolf a split second to realize he is falling. He knocks his chest wound hard onto the edge of the hole, but he manages to stop his fall, but he cannot gain purchase with his hind legs. His front paws tremble to hold his weight. His claws dig into the rock floor gouging out deep lines, but he can not hold on. The wolf falls down the narrow chute. Only now realizing there is a smell of blasting explosives, perspiration, candles, and rotten eggs. He is in a mine, a gold mine.

 

From his free fall Derek’s claws sink into the side of the narrow shoot dislodging rocks, but slowing the rate of his decent. So much so that when he hits the floor below, he only slightly breaks his bones instead of smashing like a pancake. The rocks fall from above onto the fallen wolf. He can barely breathe in the stagnant air. He has only a second to adjust his night vision, before a rock clobbers him on the head and he passes out to a skull facing him. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings, just thought I'd apologize about ending the last chapter in a weird spot. To explain there is a scene in the anime where the protagonist falls to sleep under some kinda carnivorous plant and has a weird dream about being in a false wolf's paradise. That is where I thought up the mine, it kinda throws you for a loop, but Derek needed to realize that he could never beat Gerard on his own. 
> 
> Thanks always to the readers for following this long story, especially to Shinigami24, 7unchtime, Muler200 for all their comments and everyone else for kudos and comments.
> 
> We are almost done!!! and I can focus on my other stories.

 

“Ewe he peed,” Isaac whines. “I hate when the bladder releases, it spoils the meat.”

 

Everyone turns to the little pup in Jacobs’ arms. Scott’s jaw drops and the rest seem squeamish, Petey, though gives an interested sniff.

 

“Pup, I know you’re hungry, but you can’t eat Mr. McCall. We need his body, though a few bites from scavenging animals will help sell the story. But you’ll likely get sick, who knows where this one has been,” Morrell says casually to the little wolf. She places a strange token with a rune embossed onto the surface into Agent McCall’s pocket. “It’s convenient that the Sentinel carried a preservation coin on him, even if he intended to use it my cold body.”

 

“He’s dead.” Scott is still in shock of finding his father brutally murdered at the wheel of a mangled SUV. Allison nudges her alpha and pushes him to the side, while the two hunter’s push the SUV over the side of the embankment. The snap of trees and tumbling vehicle breaks the silence on the mountain pass. The wind drives the snow around the figures as they watch the metal tomb crumble apart on the rocky slope.

 

They had discussed their options for Agent McCall and realized anything but a natural death, would easily implicate Argent. While they needed the vehicle, fitting three adults and three gigantic wolves plus a pup into a compact sedan was not going to be fun, they could deal. Petey had struggled to avoid another car ride, preferring to follow his packmate in his pursuit of the sweet-smelling-two-legged-flower-not-meat that was taken by the sour-death wolf, but he was too injured to avoid his corralling alpha. So he ended up stuck in the sedan with the pack, while Chris drove the van. He didn’t like the lightning-smelling-not-meat female or the other male two-legged-meat, but he liked that he got to stick his snout out the partially open window.

 

They drove the van three miles north of their current location, selecting a secluded densely forested area to partially hide the van. For their story to work they needed the van to be discovered, but not right away. Chris and Jacobs expertly wiped the van of any evidence the pack had left behind. They needed it to look like McCall had abandoned the van on the pass, traded vehicles, then lost control and went over the side of the road.

 

The Sheriff had been escorting his son’s friends and Melissa on the highway, when he noticed a vehicle’s head lights fall over the edge and down the slope. Pulling to the side the Sheriff stopped to investigate. In his exhaustion, he failed to notice the black bear on the side of the road. The Sheriff’s clothing had clearly been shredded by an animal. All Beacon Hills doctors have become adept at noticing the presence of animal attacks, given the number of supernatural injuries and deaths, so it was important that Melissa knew to tell them about the animal. Given Derek’s size he could pass for a black bear. The fright and stress levels from the day caused him fall into cardiac arrest. Melissa and the girls were able to resuscitate the man and drive him to the waiting ambulance.

 

Thankfully the Sheriff’s PLB was found under the bench before they moved the van. Still transmitting, but no longer helpful for locating Stiles, the group was lost to help. Derek had been the only one capable of tracking the teen with their mate bond. Now he too was gone. Morrell would be able to cast a location spell, but she needed to recover her magic. Chris and the others would pick up the trail in the morning, when the light would aid their search. Hopefully the growing snow storm would allow for easy passage and not cover the wolves’ tracks.

 

Discouraged, but not out of trouble, they focused on clearing Chris and Allison. Chris’s reappearance followed by Jacob’s statement concerning his missing team will help, but they need more time to hash out the story and for now they need to recover in Beacon Hills.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Derek opens his eyes to a field of mountain flowers flowing gently to a clear blue lake. High mountain peaks are covered in snow, white glaciers cascade over the rocky slopes into the deep lake in the basin. Warm wind fills the valley below, carrying the scent of pine trees, green foliage and prey. Large elk and smaller deer graze away on the plump grass, while rabbits and pika chew the succulent plants. A large predatory bird dives low over the lake and sweeps up a huge fish in its talons. Derek sighs in happiness; this is a wolf’s paradise.

 

A wolf and two foxes all come jumping out of the forest rolling playfully in the meadow. When they spot the new comer they all race over to greet him.

 

“Hello wolf!” The small vixen jumps up to the white wolf.

 

“Er… Hi.” Derek is a little taken aback at the forward nature of the fox. It is rubbing itself all over him.

 

“Erica, give the sour wolf some room.” The wolf speaks with the same voice he has wanted to hear above all others for the last two years. The beautiful arctic wolf gives him a joyful smile, before tackling and nipping in joy at the wolf.

 

“Laura,” Derek gasps out his sister’s name. It’s his dead sister. Then the vixen must be Erica Reyes and the other silent fox, Vernon Boyd. He begins shaking and crying out a call of joy.

 

“Boyd, I am so sorry.”

 

“Why are you apologizing?” The fox tilts his head to the side.

 

“The fight with the alphas, I killed you.”

 

“Huh? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

 

“Ah that would be this place, all your worries melt away. All I remember is my name. It’s funny you guessed our names. Now we can’t play that game. It took me forever to guess Boyd’s.” Laura nuzzles Derek’s throat.

 

“You only learned because I told you and only because you wouldn’t stop asking. You’re too noisy.” Boyd grumbles.

 

“All you want to do is nap.” Laura barks at the sunbathing fox.

 

“Come on Derek let’s play,” The female fox yips happily. “I’ll show you around.”

 

Derek has never felt so relaxed. His muscles’ strains and injuries are healed. The great valley glows in a golden light of eternal sunshine. There is no suffering or pain, only beautiful days of summer.

 

He joyfully chases his sister and the blond vixen into the shallow mountain stream, washing away all his worries.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Stiles would like to slip into darkness again when he cracks his crusted eyes open. He almost pukes from the swaying motion. He tries to push himself up, but when he puts strain on his shoulder he can not support his weight. He falls to the warm side with a cry of pain. He clutches the black fur in an effort stop the swaying motion, but the wolf only speeds up. Stiles can barely see past his face, but the undisputable feeling of being near a ledge with an awesome drop keeps Stiles from trying to climb off the monster’s back.

 

“Careful flower maiden, wouldn’t want you to fall down the ravine. It would be a pain to carry your broken body back up.” Gerard cackles. The warm body gives a lurch as Gerard jumps a chasm and lands sliding on the slick rocks. It’s harrying for a moment before the black wolf springs again off the ice and onto a rocky ledge twenty feet above.

 

Stiles whimpers in fear. His shoulder aches and he has apparently been taken by the monster. He looks behind the wolf into the dark night. “Derek,” he whispers.

 

Gerard starts laughing, “He gave you to me, for his life and that of the others. Not a bad deal. Though killing Christopher would have been nice, I can always take care of him later. I’ll write him out of existence.”

 

“He would never give up!” Stiles cries in fury at the bastard.

 

“The druid seemed to value the pack’s life more than you. She told me to leave with my prize. All the weapons they wield in defense and they were no match for my power.”

 

A jump has Stiles body rocking against the wolf’s spine he grunts in pain. He feels the slick fur beneath his stomach. He wills the clouds to break so he can see the wound. Stiles smiles slightly at the green viscous blood that seeps from the open wound when at last the blizzard weakens and the clouds pass over. The beautiful moon revives the flower maiden and he basks in her glow. Stiles prays that the vile creatures has ingested enough of his poisonous blood that the monster begins to tire, allowing his pack to catch up.

 

“You smell delicious in her presence; I can feel how happy it makes you. Perhaps I won’t miss the fertile bitch. You, flower maiden, will take her role.”

 

Stiles struggles then to free himself from the wolf, but the wolf takes off in a jump and runs faster under the moonlight along the treacherous tundra cliff. It takes all of Stiles strength to hold on, lest he fall a thousand feet below.

 

As the luminous carpet of flowers leads the wrong wolf to Paradise, Stiles concentrates on his weakening mate bond and calls desperately to Derek, “Come back to me!”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Derek, though he barely remembers that is his name, likes the high meadow and the fun creatures that keep his company all right, but he can’t seem to shirk the strange feeling that he is meant to be someplace else.

 

A lone firefly pulses his luminescence in vain. “No mates to attract here buddy,” Laura laughs and swings her tail at the bug. But the flying beacon dodges and flies down to land on Derek’s nose, flashing brightly to gain Derek’s attention. It feels familiar. He huffs out dislodging the bug and rolls to his side.

 

The four are resting in the tall grass, after a tasty snack of voles. He hasn’t had so much carefree time to hunt and play in all his life. Details about life outside the valley are getting blurrier by the minute. He is unsure how many days he has spent in this wondrous place, but it doesn’t matter. Each day is filled with the excitement of discovering the land with no fear from being shot by hunters. He remembers pain outside, but he is pain free here. He is almost happy.

 

Derek watches the fox pair rolls, tumbles and tangles in a blur of red. The red blob splits into two and chase is on again, until the two magnets pull back as one. The vixen nips at the male as play turns into more. They bump noses together in a fox kiss and disappear into the tall grass tails entwined to their quiet den below a great knoll. The lovers’ moment jerks something open in his chest. They are mates. Mate. He had a mate waiting for him outside this heaven. The wolf tries to remember his face, but no face can be conjured. He grows frustrated with the loss of his memory; he only feels the mate’s desperation. His mate needs him. He wills himself to recall. Remembering the bad things he tried to forget in this paradise, he recalls the horrific nature of the foxes’ deaths, who were once werewolves, was his own fault. They are so content to leave all the pain behind because they are dead.

 

He turns his head to the wolf beside him. He looks hard into the soft amber eyes of his sister. “I am happy Derek. Go.” Laura whispers, though she will miss him.

 

One final jerk and this time he does not fight the pull, the lost wolf returns to his body. He gasps for air. Only there is none, the oxygen is too thin. He is in the bottom of a mine shaft and all the pain he forgot slams into him. He tries to lift his head, but everything is too heavy. He feels the soft lull of peace calling him back to the meadow, but he won’t go back. Laura taught him the strength to persevere and he won’t let her down.

 

What little air exists is drafting up the tunnel, so he realizes he must go up. He gathers his strength and begins the arduous task of scaling the near vertical shaft pulling heavily on the strength of the bond. As he gets further from the heavy gases at the bottom of the shaft, he is able to take larger breaths of clean air. He carefully places his paws in the decaying wood slots. He has to jump in several places where the support truces have given to time and crumbled to dust unable to support his weight. The glow of light at the end of the shaft heightens his determination even as the burning in his muscles becomes unbearable in their exertion to keep his body moving. The thought of Stiles gives him the strength to reach the moon.

 

When he reaches the top he can see the light of the moon. He tumbles out of the hole with one last push and continues rolling until his heavy body breaks through the rotten boards of the mine’s entrance. As he comes to a stop in a snow pile, he can see the Danger Keep Out sign scrawled on a worn board in old paint. No one has been to the mine in a century. Derek guesses the last to dig the veins died at the bottom of the shaft. The locals must have realized the miner never made it out and went to investigate. They only boarded his tomb, never venturing into the prospector’s glory hole to collect the lost soul’s body.

 

The white wolf pulls the clean cold air into his injured and near dead body. He rests under the moonlight, the salve to all his pain. “Stiles,” he calls weakly to the wind and moon. “My Stiles, I just need to rest and then I will come.” He gets no answer, but he feels Stiles acknowledges his return by the flutter of gold light that feels his chest. Hours pass under the starry night sky before Derek feels like he can move. It is light now, early morning and clear blue skies. He feels tired, but the claws of Death have lost its grip. Derek howls out to his mate that he is coming for him.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Chris Argent feels the cool chill of the morning on his cheeks as he and the other wolves carry out the search for Derek’s tracks. Heavy snow the night before has covered most of the trail. They were able to sniff out the broken trail here and there, but they lost the trail completely an hour ago.

 

“He must have run the whole night.” Scott says from Chris’ elbow where his wolf head reaches. Getting used to the wolves was easy. For some reason he feels more at peace in their presence than he ever did in the company of his own hunting unit. He envies the grace and efficiency the pack travels in the woods. Their body language is easier to read, then a human’s. He knows he can trust Scott and Isaac with his life, given they both saved him last night in the fight.

 

He has heard the story from his own daughter. Their family’s origins, the _Book of the Moon_ , his daughter’s transformation and the whole scenario sounds straight from a fairy tale. His life is a lie. He wants to shoot the grey wolf Petey, but there is no point. Peter Hale is dead permanently and he is more upset with his father. Gerard Argent’s hidden projects will not go unpunished. He can understand his sister a little more with the information Stiles gathered. His own father is a demon.

 

Jacobs’ team returns from their search along the tributary of this ridge on the mountain. “Nothing, It’s like he climbed the very ridge of the mountain.”

 

Scott looks up to the high rock formation with dangerous key holds and drops in the hundreds of feet. “Shit,” he starts to bend his legs to bound up to the start of the hogback formation, when a wolf howl echoes through the clear mountain air.

 

Petey tips his head back and answers his pack mate’s call with a deep longing timbre. Isaac and Alison stack their howls in harmony. The somber song is deepened as the alpha adds his reverence. Derek starts again, but his call is filled with hope and the sad song transforms to one of courage to rally the troops.

 

Chris weeps in the very center of his core; he fills his lungs and gives into the longing. His wolf blood alights with desire to join his brethren. His howl starts rocky, but he finally meets the smooth call the other wolves make. He keeps his eyes closed, so he misses Jacobs’ judgmental look.

 

Jacobs’ idol has gone wild. “Good set of lungs there Argent, but you may want to tone it down before we bring that cornice down our heads.” Jacobs points to the very top of the snowpack where an avalanche could likely make this week the worst in the history of recorded weather to ever befall a single area; a typhoon, an earthquake, a wildfire, a blizzard and now a possible avalanche.

 

“Right,” Chris speaks.

 

“Scott, there is no way I can survive that ridge.” Chris mutters to the wolf at his side.

 

“I am not sure I could either. Besides the wind exposure alone would have destroyed any trail Gerard left. I think it’s best to get back in the SUV and take the secondary around the side of the mountain. Given the location of our vantage last night the lunar flowers were headed that way. Lydia helped triangulate a map that should give us a start to begin looking in. I just wanted to be sure they weren’t still on this face. Derek seems to have made no progress last night. We’re lucky he’s alive this morning.” Scott takes a moment. Petey begins to dance in anticipation of a run. Scott snaps at the wolf’s paws to keep him behind them and in place.

 

“Derek’s second call sounded like he was headed this way let’s give him some time to get down the face. Derek’s mate tie to Stiles will act just like a beacon transmitter. We will find him so much faster now. We’ll let you and Jacob’s get a head start.”

 

…

 

Derek will not admit the hot soup out of Argent’s thermos is a life saver. He will not, but the inadvertent moan he releases is enough to draw that patent smirk to the hunter’s face as he drives one of the two vehicles over the slick road.

 

“Heard your call; it needs work.” Derek icily adds. Argent’s face falls. Derek smirks into the hot refreshment.

 

“It was beautiful Dad.” The brown wolf bites Derek’s human ear.

 

“Owe!” Derek cries, nearly spilling the precious warm food onto the car mat and Petey. The grey wolf takes up the entire front passenger’s foot space in his stubborn guard of Derek and the dangerous smelling two-legged meat. Derek’s long legs are propped up on the dash. Petey begins to lick eagerly at the spilled soup in Derek’s lap, but Derek gives a furious growl. He will not have his former uncle that close to his junk. Gross.

 

The red SUV slides a little on the road. The slushy conditions are not as bad as Chris had feared. He had guessed the storm to have closed the roads, but the secondary remained open and even plowed. Some of the locals must have been working all last night to keep the road open. Most of the county’s transportation forces are working on the interstate and major roads damaged by the earthquake; the residents of the small mountain towns would likely get cut off from supplies, if they didn’t work to keep the road open. The heaviest snow must have hit the other side because Chris can see the snow depth is not as great, but he is still thankful to the people who worked through the storm.

 

“Derek, you feel him right?” Scott asks.

 

“Yeah, he is still with us. That was insane to take the route over the mountain like Gerard in the storm.” Derek was reluctant to lose ground to meet back with his pack, but one near fatal slip from the ridge, convinced him that the terrain was impassable. He needs his pack’s strength to take on the monster. If Gerard was that much further ahead, then they were in trouble. He isn’t sure how Paradise works, but all he knows is Deaton’s dire warning to Scott, not to allow any wolf save Derek open Paradise. His Stiles is scared and Derek knows his mates fear like his own. The creature’s twisted nature though worries Derek. The black wolf needs Stiles alive, but the bastard can still find sick ways to torture his mate.

 

He was absolutely furious to see his sister waiting back at the highway with Morrell and Lydia. He had tackled her and asked why she would put herself into danger like that again. She had bopped him on the snout and simply said, “Because it’s Stiles and I will die before I let that man hurt him.” Lydia moved to stand behind Cora, slowly each member of the pack sided with her and Derek gave up. He prays it never comes to that.

 

Scott and Allison boarded the larger SUV with Derek, Petey and Chris. Morrell, Lydia, Jacobs, and Cora all are in the second Argent vehicle, Allison blue car. Isaac was still too injured to join the hunt, even if he insisted he was fine. Instead he was left to babysit with Ethan. The three newest additions to the pack exploded at the sight of the wolf pup. Poor Isaac was left to their whims. With gentle though exuberant care, the girls played Nurse Melissa with the red wolf pup. Melissa was requested to work again at the triage center. She politely declined she was unable to with her new charges and a recovering Sheriff. News of the man’s heart failure went viral. Concerned people converged on the Stilinski home leaving flowers and cards for the man. Media van’s waited for any update on the man, who spent the night in the hospital, but was miraculously released early that morning. Melissa was forced to move the Sheriff to her house to avoid the constant disruption. Now her quiet empty house was full of people. Ethan and the three children crowded into Scott’s room, while the Sheriff was imprisoned in the guest room; the man was caught trying to break out to join the rescue when he needed rest. They had to thank the werewolf’s little ears. A natural tattle tale, Nia kept close watch on the man for Melissa.

 

Melissa reluctantly let the wolves sleep in her den and she returned to the hospital to relieve Lydia. Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Petey were filthy and injured. They spent most of the night in the backyard soaking under the moon light. Morrell had spent the night checking on Isaac’s health. No one got much rest and before the first light all of the company, save the children, Isaac and Ethan, they were out the door. The Sheriff was collected not long after and went to sleep after a brief shouting match. Nurse Melissa always gets her way.

 

Chris and Jacobs spent the night speaking to the FBI via conference call and giving statements. Chris Argent claimed that McCall had taken him from the parking lot with Williams as the driver of the van. They then drove the van to the preserve where Agent McCall and Agent Williams walked him through the woods to a meadow. He was tortured and given drugs to force a fictitious confession from him, when he became ill Williams had insisted they take him to the hospital. The superior agent became enraged with the agent and the lack of evidence from his wiretap and interrogation. Apparently McCall claimed he needed to check in with his superiors and left the woods to the Sheriff’s office. Williams called into the Sheriff’s station looking for McCall to report his detainee’s worsening condition that he was headed to the hospital.

 

Jacobs made his claim that at the time he had been reviewing the tape at the cabin, overheard the call from the scanner wondering what was going on. He had no prior knowledge of his team’s intention to question a suspect. Dispatch responded that McCall never showed at the Sheriff’s office, apparently he stayed in the woods. Shortly after, the scent of smoke filled the area. He heard the second call from Williams who needed directions out of the preserve and to report a wildfire. Jacobs was able to triangulate the second radio call to the preserve about a half mile from the parking lot. He drove the sedan to the preserve lot and saw no other vehicles. He continued on foot, his thoughts grew increasingly suspicious with his superior’s shifty moves. McCall’s obsession with Chris Argent was disrupting the case. The agent actively ignored other possible leads and instead targeted a select few individuals on speculation and no solid evidence.

 

By the time Jacobs got to the two, he witnessed his superior slashing Williams’ neck with a hunting knife. Chris was at this point unconscious. Williams was dead. McCall had stripped the body of any weapons and taken Williams’ radio. He then placed the weapon in the hands of Chris Argent, who he had released from the binds. Jacobs had approached the man with his gun drawn not understanding the man’s actions. In the confrontation McCall knocked his gun away and temporarily disabled the agent by throwing mud in his eyes. Agent McCall had then bashed the agent over the head with a rock. Thinking the man dead McCall must have left. No one had heard from the man since.

 

Agent Jacobs returned to consciousness about the same time Chris Argent did. They were confused and by then the wildfire’s smoke greatly reduced their ability to find the way to the parking lot where he left the sedan. They had to shelter in the stream bed away from the smoke and heat for hours. By the time they made their way back to the car the fire had prevented their exit, no radio transmission were working. They finally got back to Beacon Hills and headed straight to the hospital. Both were looked over and told to stay, while the proper authorities were contacted. After the interviews were given the FBI told them a second team will be there to investigate and that they were to cooperate with the agents. Chris hopes his and Jacobs’ disappearance will not look suspicious. Highway crews will likely find McCall’s wreck soon, the van will be next, and he doesn’t want to be near the scene given his connection to the man.

 

Chris blinks his tired eyes as he drives through the slushy snow packed road. They creep through another small mountain town at ten miles per hour, they are making progress. Everyone seems lost in their own thoughts. Derek is nervously chewing the thermos. Petey is sleeping. Scott and Allison are taking tactics to use against the monster, now that they have hunters and a fully charged druid. Without the genius that is Stiles Stilinski, their strategies are a bit flat and lack imagination. Jacobs’ gives a honk that they are stopping for a break at small café. Most of the businesses are closed given the off season. Chris’ tired eyes could use a break.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

“High Druid Grady, sir, Sentinel McCall has failed to report.”

 

“Very well, you are promoted to his place.” Grady smiles as the Sentinel kisses his hand. Building his army against the Council is always satisfying. It is never done without a few well placed favors. He likes his tools happy and loyal. While McCall had been loyal, he was never happy with his low place among the warriors he wanted the thrill of hunting not protection. The man would have made the perfect leader of the new role as hunters, but alas he cannot have disobedience. He moves his hand over the ring that corresponds to McCall’s Valknut to deactivate it. He is surprised to find that the tattoo has already sealed. Only another member of the Council can override the Sentinel’s tattoo. “Deaton!” He curses the druid’s name. His little spy has been found out. Now he has to unweave his part in the warrior’s manipulations, undoing months of careful planning.

 

He curses again as he feels the glowing presence of a deity. He falls to his knees in false reverence. When he falters in his greeting to the presence as he does not know which of the hundreds have come to greet him. The name flies out of his mouth like poison. “Deaton!” The angry man screams in surprise.

 

There before the druid stands a bearded man with Deaton’s features. He wears a tunic and carries a short pole hammer in one hand, in the other a vessel filled with sand. This is no longer High Druid Deaton, but rather a minor deity. “You Grady are stripped of your magic for crimes against the Council as per the Great Mother’s command.”

 

A flash of green strips the man of all his power. He crumples to the floor, screaming as his skin feels like it is boiling. Grady closes his eyes quickly to avoid looking at the power, should he go mad.

 

“You can’t do this to me. You are nothing.” He screams at the glowing man.

 

“I am a god of time, I do Her work. I have judged your machinations today as detrimental to the harmony of the future. As master of time, I have judged you, Mother has judged you. This is your punishment, be glad you have your life.”

 

“You bastard!” Grady screams.

 

Deaton just remains calm and looks down on the man. “Forget the Spark, he is under my protection. He is Her chosen’s.” Deaton’s presence fades now that his work is finished leaving the stricken man to his own thoughts.

 

Grady gasps in surprise, the only other option to recover his magic is gone. He is a doomed man. He tries to call his most loyal to him, but no one comes. He is cast out from the world of magic. As he passes the gate to the grooves that house the Council, his memory of all that has been his life among the druids is stripped. He recalls nothing and wanders aimlessly in the Welch woods never to be heard of again.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: Gerard murders another innocent no one important, Gerard is leaking all over, injuries, death of a major character, temporary death of a major character, injuries, fluff

 

The soft duvet surprises the flower maiden. He opens his hands to see he is in a small room. The fire is cold and dark. He is just about to swing out of bed when his foot strikes a warm body at the side of the bed on the floor. Gerard is resting there, his huge form rocks as he tries to pull enough air into his drowning lungs. The poison from the druid’s arrow has spread to his organs. Stiles’ twinge in his shoulder reminds him of his own agony as he strains his body to creep over the sleeping wolf.

 

He doesn’t make it more than foot before his legs are swept out from under him. He falls hard on his side to the cold stone floor, screaming when he feels a rib break. The wolf bites his foot to pull him closer. Green vomit surrounds the wolf’s maw. Black ooze creeps from his eyes, sealing them shut in a thick crust. The wolf scents the flower maiden and rubs his filth covered head all over Stiles front. The discharge spreads all over the flailing boy trying to get away from the wolf.

 

“Stay still little maiden and tell me what that witch did,” Gerard demands.

 

“I have no idea,” Stiles stutters out as the sharp fangs pierce his skin drawing fresh green fluid that is the lunar flower’s life essence. “Ah, stop.”

 

“Liar. Now tell me why my vomit smells like your sweet blood.” Gerard pushes down harder with his snout, bruising the boy’s already broken rib.

 

“Stop, please.” He is on the verge of hysteria, but the pain from Gerard keeps his mind from slipping to point he cannot answer. “She poisoned you. You poisoned yourself by biting me.”

 

Gerard releases the flower maiden. Stiles scrambles back from the wolf on the ground until he hits the dark wood paneling of the room. He tries to catch his breath and fight off the impending panic attack. He is so hurt and lost he no longer believes Derek will catch up to him. It’s been hours and the light outside reveals the sun is high in the sky.

 

“You are wilting; you’ll fade before we make it to Paradise. Get yourself some water.” Gerard says kindly like he actually cares about Stiles. He only cares about his key to Paradise.

 

Stiles pushes up the wall sheltering his injured side and sways into the small kitchen attached to the one room cabin. He tries to find a glass, but gives up and just sticks his head under the facet. He almost pukes from the pressure the position puts on his ribs. He can’t stress his injury anymore, so he simply cups the water to his mouth. Upon the first drop of fresh water hitting his hand, his skin absorbs the reviving liquid. He is only given a short minute to freshen his dry body, before the black wolf is at his side, pushing him out into the cold.

 

Earlier this morning the severity of Gerard’s growing illness, made the wolf slow in his run. They happened upon a truck with an attached plow rumbling up the road to the small cabin. The gruff mountain man must have been returning from plowing the pass and his driveway. Argent stole the man’s life the moment he stepped out of the truck’s cab. The wolf told Stiles to pull the keys from the dead body. When Stiles refused, Gerard simply bit through the man’s forearm, taking the partial limb from the body and dropped the bloody mess at his feet. He told him once more to open the cabin door and Stiles scrambled to comply. After a few tries to fit the bloody key into the lock, Stiles opened the door and Gerard pushed him in and promptly feel to the floor of the small cabin. Stiles was too exhausted to try and run, simply crawled into the dead man’s bed and cried to sleep.

 

Stiles shuts his eyes against the grisly scene just outside the door of the cabin and allows the wolf to push him to the truck. Stiles fumbles blindly for the latch and opens the door. He tries to pull the door shut before the wolf can jump in, but Gerard’s mass stops the door. Stiles is forced to endure the foul creature sloping over his lap as the sick wolf crawls over him.

 

Gerard growls, “Behave Stiles, you don’t need both your arms to enter Paradise. Actually if I am right all I need is a hole. So it would be better for you if you just do as I tell you.”

 

Stiles chokes on the snot and tears at the mention of Gerard’s knowledge of opening Paradise. He pleads into his bond that Derek hurry. He feels Derek’s immediate response that he is near. Stiles eyes tear in hope, his mate is close.

 

“Drive now little flower.” Gerard grumbles.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Derek spits out the coffee the moment he feels Stiles plea for help.

 

“I’m coming!” The human looking wolf drops the cup on Chris Argent’s foot as he rushes to vacate the small café. The kitschy dust catchers that line the shelves all around the tourist spot crash in the vibration from Derek slamming the door wide open. The glass door shatters behind him and Derek doesn’t care. He just takes off up the snowy road. His form slips into a wolf on the deserted main street as he follows his mate bond. Scott hears the ruckus from the car where he Allison and Petey wait for the others to come out of the shop. “Those who can assume their human form are welcome to join; wolves have to stay in the car.” Lydia said flippantly to the three left behind.

 

All three watch the white wolf rush off. Derek has Stiles on his mate radar and they cannot lose Derek. They burst out the Argent’s SUV shattering the closed window to break free and chase after their pack mate.

 

“I don’t care if your dogs are getting loose; you are going to pay for your friend’s damage.” The angry shop barista screams at Chris Argent. Cora Hale is already out the door running after the wolves. Jacobs, Lydia and Morrell sit stunned around one of the small tables waiting for the last drink to be made. Lydia had to order a special drink, which takes more time than dispensing regular coffee the rest of them ordered. Morrell sips lightly on her lemon-mint tree like nothing in wrong.

 

Chris should have yelled at the girl earlier to keep it simple and now they are paying for it. He pulls a wad of cash from his pants and gives it all to the woman. He scrambles for paper to write his information on the slip and hands it to her. “The door will be more, but the cash should cover the knick knacks. Call me with the insurance assessment and I will deal with them to pay. You have the credit slip from the coffee, so you know I can pay. I am sorry for the disturbance.” He rushes through his apology to catch up with the others scrambling to get out of the awkward situation.

 

When he sees her agreeing nod, he runs to his SUV. He curses loudly at the broken window. He screams at the disappearing wolves, “Allison you will pay for this out of your allowance.”

 

Argent throws open his car door and sits in the safety glass, speeding off to catch up with Morrell’s car and the wolves.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

By the time Chris Argent pulls up behind the Allison’s blue car Morrell was driving, his face is bright red from the frozen wind. His face is numb, but most wouldn’t notice the difference from his usual scowl. He quickly grabs his hunting satchel and winter coat. He follows the human tracks into the woods. The others wait for him just inside the cover of the trees. He nods to them, Jacobs covers the rear, with the two witches watching the sides, and he leads them through the silent snow coved woods after Cora Hale’s tracks.

 

Running along the snow packed trail, he spots scratch marks on the ponderosa trees, whole chunks of bark is missing from wolf claws. Derek must have caught up to Stiles and Gerard in the narrow trees. Their fight took just as much out of the woods as each other. For every splintered tree trunk a puddle of blood smears the base and colors the ground pink and strangely patches of black and green are equally spread among the needles and branches. Sap seeps as blood giving the gruesome woods a clean smell, while the eyes only see the defiled nature. The pure snow in juxtaposition to the foul black and green mucus a testament to the unearthly being his father has become.

 

Chris stops just in time, he nearly slid over a step embankment. Down the ravine, Chris spots Allison and Scott flanking the monster as Derek scrambles to keep hold of Gerard’s back. Cora is off to the side helping Stiles stand from a snow bank. Carefully edging over the partially frozen bridge, Stiles and Cora cross the mountain river. Chris watches nervously as the web like cracks form around the two. A splitting sound of ice cracking has Cora scrambling.

 

“Get on your stomachs and slide. You got to distribute your weight!” Chris screams at the two. Cora quickly moves Stiles to his side, he screams as the new position hurts his ribs, but at least the ice doesn’t give right away. Cora tries to keep him from flailing, she makes him cross his arms and she does all the work to get them to the bank. She can feel her jeans and stomach soaking through with the frigid water from the ice sinking under their weight. Gun shots fire over her head, the bullet trajectories are further upstream to her and Stiles. She keeps calm trusting that the hunters won’t hit her and begins the task of pushing Stiles ahead in a slow motion, then pulling her body close to Stiles to push him forward once again. The train inch-worm motion is slow. They make it far enough across the ice, so that when the ice finally gives, it is in the shallow part where Cora can hoist Stiles up to the bank and climb out of the knee deep water.

 

A crack of ice alerts her to another crossing the river. When she turns there is no wolf. She hears a desperate call for her to look up. She turns just in time to see Gerard’s descending body fall from his thirty foot jump, right on top of Cora. She bashes hard into the river rocks, cracking her shoulder on the sharp edges. Gerard’s weight grounds down of the werewolf, her head is barely above the water. The black wolf’s tongue licks into her open mouth as she gasps against the freezing temperature of the water. She bites hard on the disgusting tongue, feeling his blood and black ooze pour into her mouth. She spits wildly to remove the taste, when he withdraws.

 

“My bitch, you came back to me. You’ll know just how much I don’t tolerate those who run later. But in the meantime,” Gerard leaves no time for the girl to process what he means. The wolf scrambles off Cora dragging her out of the water over to Stiles side. “Bitch, pay attention, this is Stiles’ punishment for thinking he can run from his destiny.” His jaw opens wide to show his sharp teeth gleaming in the morning sun. He tilts his head to the side and bite harshly onto Stiles side.

 

“Stiles!” Derek’s scream is soaring over head as the wolf lands several meters from the three. He doesn’t land well, as his injuries prevent the wolf from putting weight on one of his hind legs. He is also bleeding heavily from his side, the wound gushes as he pushes himself to stand.

 

Stiles wails and faints from the pain of the wolf puncturing his abdomen. Green blood leaks from the open wound into Gerard’s mouth further ingesting the lunar flower’s blood. Cora pulls her freezing hands over the wound in the front and the back trying to stop Stiles life blood from pouring out.

 

“Take care of the key, I need to take care of some pests; then we will open the gate together.” Gerard says as he charges the white wolf. Derek and he fight on the narrow bank. Exchanging flesh wounds, until Gerard latches painfully onto Derek’s previous side wound and Derek falls.

 

“Derek,” Cora screams at her brother, as his eyes roll in pain. Gerard giggles and bubbles of black and green mix with the crimson of Derek’s blood to form a toxic brown sludge. Cora wants to help, but Stiles life depends on the pressure she keeps on his injury. Cora looks around for the others. Petey is perilously crossing the broken ice and the hunters are climbing over the edge of the ravine to get down to them. Lydia is sliding down the ice pack at an alarming speed. Morrell chants something and sparrows descend from the skies out of nowhere. They pluck up at her jacket and flap furiously, until the girl’s speed slows and she slides to her feet perfectly save a very wet muddy bottom. Scott and Allison are nowhere to be seen. No one is close enough to save her brother.

 

Stiles eyes flutter, catching the sight of his mate dying under Gerard’s jaws. “Der-,” Stiles gasps reaching out toward his mate. “Help him,” Stiles screams with all his soul.

 

All of a sudden the tree roots break out from the river bank and wrap around the black wolf. Gerard gasps as the roots squeeze his wolf body; he releases Derek’s side to bite at the roots. For every snap and broken root two new ones appear, until the evil mass is contained in the strong gripping roots of the trees.

Gerard roars in frustration. He growls under the strain of the roots pressing his damaged internal organs. His illness looks like the trees are ringing him out like a sponge.

 

Stiles thanks the trees for saving his mate by projecting a beautiful glow of gold light like an aspen tree in autumn in a gentle wind. He feels the flutter of life from Derek’s bond and starts a garbled humming song to heal his mate. The Nemeton, even from so far away, pours his healing energy into his three guardians. Stiles in turn, pours all the extra energy into Derek. When he no longer can put the effort into the words, he continues over his mind link with the white wolf.

 

A shadow falls on his face, lit by a halo of light from the redhead blocking the sun. “Angel,” Stiles says softly to the heavenly sight. Through his blurry eyes he cannot see his angel of heaven is not so beautiful, given the snot and tears rolling down her cheeks smearing her makeup, but Stiles can no longer focus his eyes.

 

He closes his tired eyes and falls to sleep dreaming of Derek with a strawberry colored coat.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Chris Argent slips over the icy rocks making his way down to his father. Allison and Scott are motionless on the other side of the river. He cannot tell if they are alive given the dark stains under their forms he fears the worst. Morrell puts a steadying hand on Chris’ shoulder to keep him from falling the last thirty feet. He grabs to tree roots to steady himself and her as she slides into him. They shuffle over the slick rock until they are just ten feet from the river bank. He drops the rest. Morrell quickly follows, he steadies her, then waits to support Jacobs. Once the other hunter is safe on the snowy bank, they rush toward the putrid mass of bubbling waste.

 

Chris wants to cross the frigid water, but he would never make it. Petey is stuck on a sheaf that is tipping and the current is turning the wolf around in circles, until the drag becomes too much for the wolf to balance and he tips into the river in with a giant splash. Chris turns away from the wolf’s peril to close to his own danger as his father lunges at his face. Chris takes a step back. He watches as the white wolf breath begins to return to normal as Derek’s pain fades.

 

Surprisingly it is Morrell that comes to the Petey’s rescue. She summons her larger familiar and giant eagle sweeps down in the water for the wolf that has yet to surface. Cora watches stunned as the eagle manages to catch the wolf’s tail and yank him out of the deep fast current. The ungrateful wolf actually tries to bite at the flying meat, whether in retaliation for his tail being pulled or an opportunist for a meal.

 

Morrell growls at the grey wolf. The sopping wet wolf shakes the frigid water that freezes mid air away from his hurt body onto the druid. She sends a spark of lightning at the feisty wolf and he yips in fear of the glowing druid. Barely making his way to Cora’s side, he skids across the frozen bank in fright. He spins and slips into Lydia’s side, who makes a comment about wet dogs, but the redhead still pets the wet pelt. Petey shuts his eyes to rest and licks at Stiles’ still hand. He whines and waits in vigil for the sweet flower plant to awaken.

 

Chris takes the last hollowed bullet from his .50AE Desert Eagle. He cracks it open and steps between Cora and Lydia to collect the green blood of the injured flower maiden. Petey growls at the man with the loud tool, but doesn’t snap at the man for touching his injured pack mate. He caps the bullet and places it into the empty cartridge and aims.

 

“You always were pathetic Christopher. You never had the guts to make yourself into something great. That could change; you could actually make me proud for once, help me and together we’ll open Paradise.”

 

“No.” Chris will not allow his father to manipulate him into claiming the power his wolf blood boils for. It would be so easy at this point, but he has no desire for that power.

 

“You miserable excuse for a son, you are unworthy of greatness. You would waist all the potential we hold, just like your cock sucking daughter protected that bastard McCall and now you protect Hale. Derek is not worthy, he couldn’t even hold onto his alpha power. He couldn’t even stop me. He’ll die and all of you will die with him. Open the gate with me, before the key dies. Become the Argent you were born to be!” Gerard wheezes out desperately.

 

“Meet your death father, knowing that in the end you were weaker than any wolf ever was, you coward.” Chris lifts the safety and fires the shot into his father’s head. Gerard roars in anger and pain. His magic preventing his death from the bullet, but as the lunar flower poison leeks out of the spent bullet, his brain tissue necrotizes, his basic functions fail as his brain dies and he becomes nothing more than a puddle of waste. The trees roots burn from the toxic fluid and quickly withdraw from the source, leaving the dead wood wrapped tight like a coffin.

 

They all watch the harrowing sight for a moment. Their tormentor is dead. Chris turns his attention to the other side of the river. Scott has crawled over to Allison’s side. He nudges the form of his daughter; she rocks as his pushes become more frantic on her chest. He brings his muzzle up to her nose and breathes. He tilts his head now and then to listen, but keeps a sequence. Chris then realizes what Scott is attempting in his wolf form, CPR. Chris breath hitches watching his still daughter. He throws himself into the water to cross, to help the wolf resuscitate her, but Jacobs stops him.

 

“You’ll drown before you reach her! It’s too cold!” Jacobs screams at the frantic man, they end up in a fight. Chris Argent is deranged with the thought he has lost his daughter. He doesn’t realize his state until the other man has him pinned deep in a snow bank and he can’t breathe. The cold snow blocks his airway. He struggles to pull himself out when he starts to choke. Hands release their pressure and Chris bursts out of the snow bank gasping for fresh air.

 

“Are you ok now?” Jacobs bloody face asks him carefully, even as he keeps his grip on the man. Chris hears the words as mumbles. All he can make out is the blurred side of the bank and the sad timbre of a howl. Scott begins to howl in the greatest pain, the loss of a mate. Chris feels every note as his own loss of a daughter rips through his soul tearing and ripping something deep within him.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Sheriff wakes to screaming. When the high pitch squeals of the girls quiet the Sheriff hears the saddest howl he has ever heard. For a moment all he can think about is his boy. The wolf howl is for his boy. He calms his heart as it races in fright for his boy and makes his way into the living room. The room is a mess from the children’s play.

 

He quickly scans the room for the danger. But all the activity is the desperate struggle of two familiar forms. Ethan’s eyes are glowing purple in the effort to contain the small pup from taking off out the open patio door, where Melissa has frozen at the sight of the two’s struggle.

 

“What’s wrong? Where’s my gun?” Sheriff asks, hand automatically falling to his side. And holy shit he needs to know where his service weapon is in a house full of children.

 

“Sheriff it’s alright. Your gun is in the lock at your house, you left it there this morning. Remember when the press showed up wanting an interview and you threatened to use your gun? Well we locked it up before your temper got to you.” Melissa tries to calm the recovering heart patient.

 

“What’s wrong with Isaac?”

 

“He is saddest cause his heart hurts.” Nia tells the older man.

 

“No,” the Sheriff falls back into the chair knowing exactly what the toddler means. “No.”

 

The Sheriff will forever feel bad for the relief he felt the moment he discovered that Isaac’s reaction was not to Stiles death, but the death of his mate, Allison Argent.

 

His scent reeking of relief all the werewolves knew he felt, but at the moment Isaac Lahey could not understand. Lahey turns on the Sheriff in anger, his sharp teeth snap onto his leg. The bite is not as deep as it could be, but it is painful. Isaac reels back in shock at the older man’s cry. He stammers out a quick apology, folds to the floor in a shaking mound and gives a wobbling whimper. So broken by her loss that he simply wills himself to sleep and they cannot wake him.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Morrell turns to face the growling wolf. The dark brown wolf with silver racing marks on his sides, snaps furiously at all present. His daughter is over there, he will reach her. His furious and snarls at being kept away from his pack. Chris feels power, he feels free. The white wolf holding all his weight and pushing him flat is beginning to weaken. The grey wolf is hobbling away from Chris’ last strike. They’re weakening he knows it and they know it.

 

If the distraught wolf actually makes it across the river, he will lash out at the one who he thinks is responsible. Scott will take Argent’s fury and given his injuries he will not survive. Morrell knows this, as do the other’s in the alpha’s pack. ‘Then would Chris Argent become the alpha?’ Morrell thinks. The scion of the greatest hunter family, an alpha of a wolf pack to which she plans to pledge, should they even survive. She scoffs at the very idea and decide its best not to let that happen.

 

A soft hum fills the air, Stiles has woken to the pack’s distress singing a calming tune. He cannot move from his warm spot, but he feels some of the tension leave the group. Stiles calls the newest wolf to him and like the moon, the wolf cannot ignore his pull. Chris sits at the withering side of the flower maiden. Stiles pets away his distress and lulls him to quiet and he listens to the flower’s soft words.

 

“Chris, you make a fine wolf in your devotion, but calm your heart. Lydia, our emo canary, never sung the call of her death. She knew Gerard Argent would die, but it was never your daughter and I feel time shifting. The trees are singing of his plans. Deaton,” Stiles doesn’t finish. He directs all their attention to the glowing figure approaching the wolf couple on the other side of the river. “He controls time now. He will give her time back.”

 

The ethereal figure of the man they once knew as Deaton tilts his bag of sand over the dead wolf. As the sand falls it absorbs into her body until she glows bright for a moment. Even from across the river, the witnesses see the thump of her tail as she wakes to the sight of her one of her mates.  Deaton has given her time.

 

To the melody of rejoicing howls, Deaton returns to the other realm, but not before he fondly pats the head of his only son. “I am proud of you Scott.” He speaks and then disappears.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A small firefly flits through the air to the busy house. The six-year-old whines that the puppy won’t come out to play with her new friend, Lana. Danny’s younger sister immediately took to Meredith the moment they found something in common; their names. Meredith pointed out her name means _protector of the sea_. Her mother named her so, because her human brother’s name is Dillan, _son of the sea_. Her mother’s name was Jenny, which means _white wave_. For some reason the twins thought it right to split the family names by fire and water. Ethan means _solid_ , enduring and Aiden means _fire_ , so Jenny decided she would give her children names after her own.  Except for little Nia, whose name means _bright_ because she was always full of such joy and lit up everyone’s heart, they carry the names of water.

 

Lana’s name means _calm as still waters_ or _afloat_. When Meredith told the girl she would always protect her because of her name, they promised right then to be friends forever. The stunned adults could only wonder how children, who had only experienced a secluded life, could ever break down their silent fortress to strangers so fast. The fast friends disappeared to play, while the Sheriff reads quietly with Nia and Dillan on the couch. Nia thought reading to the distraught pup would make him feel better. So Melissa pulled out all of Scott’s old books and they’ve been reading since. Ethan sits quietly with Danny cuddled to his side for the sad wolf to wake from his mate bond breaking. The couple had explained to a very confused Sheriff and Melissa exactly what was wrong with Isaac and likely Scott at the moment. Melissa started crying at the mention of her son and excused herself to collect herself in private. 

 

In the time it took to read three books Stilinski, Nia, and Dillan are down for the count. Ethan keeps his silent vigil. Danny mumbles sweetly into his neck as he comforts the alpha. It has been a difficult day. The children are enough of a distraction, but Ethan suffers from a split bond like the wolf pup in front of him. Had he not had Danny, he would have killed himself in the woods. Now he realizes he has a responsibility to his cousins and Danny, he would never consider such a selfish act, but he wonders if that is what his own brother would have done if things were opposite and his brother the one to kill him.

 

“Hush Ethan, do not torture yourself.” Danny feels his mate slipping into a dark spot. “Look at the lives you saved, they live to make good memories with you. They need you and I need you.”

 

“I love you, Danny.” Ethan gathers his mate to him and they kiss languidly just relishing the feeling of being close to each other with no desire to do anything beyond exploring their mate bond in reaction to the trust and love they hold for each other.

 

“Kiss, Kiss, Kiss. Oh Danny! Oh Ethan! Let me eat your face.” Lana teases her older brother, very used to catching her brother and his boyfriend in an intimate moment. Meredith looks shy like she expects her alpha to yell at her new friend in anger, but he merely smiles and tries to tickle the girl away.

 

“Come on Ethan, let’s fix some lunch for the little mermaids.” Danny calls out to the werewolf. He catches the flash of Meredith’s eyes as she resents being called a fish, when she is a wolf. But Ethan simply puts a hand over the little girl’s mouth when she starts to protest. Danny covers easily by saying, “Lana got to play mermaid all last week, so maybe we’ll pretend to be, I don’t know… wolves. How does that sound?” This brings smiles to the girls’ faces. Ethan just quirks a brow to his lover and follows him into the kitchen to rustle up lunch for wolves.

 

In the quiet the little firefly reappears from the muntin on the glass and floats into the room to land on the pup’s forehead. A flash of light and the damage to the torn bond is fixed. Isaac wakes with joyful tears in his eyes. His love is alive and safe again. He pulses his joy through the bond to Scott and Allison. They return his feelings in a burst from both wolves at the same time, the pup falls off the ottoman.

 

Ethan comes running at the pup’s movement. He cautiously approaches the crying wolf. Catching a whiff of the happy emotion pouring out of Isaac, Ethan rushes forward and hugs the little one. “I am so happy for you Isaac.”

 

“I have to go to them. I have to see to them. Now,” Isaac whimpers out.

 

“Alright,” Ethan agrees. There would be nothing that would keep him from Danny, if he were in Isaac’s shoes or paws, whatever. “We’ll figure something out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so much closer to a good ending now that Gerard is dead!


	18. Chapter 18

 

Allison can’t get over the fact that her dad is a wolf and trotting at her side. Sure she came back from dead, but she doesn’t exactly remember that. She remembered the great oak giving her strength from her guardian bond, but it wasn’t enough and life just dimmed. When she opened her eyes she was so happy that Scott was there and alive, but she is more shocked by the change in her father. Her father leans in to her side, pushing playfully in a gentile gesture of support. She is still hurt, like her mate and alpha on her other side. They walk through the snowy field as a ragtag team of awesomeness.

 

Her grandfather is dead a mass of putrid flames that they left to burn in the frozen snow miles back. Morrell had carefully lifted the toxic mass with a spell using the very rocks of the land to roll his carcass away from the forest’s water source. The stones surrounding his body will trap the poisons filtering his burning flesh through the porous stone. The fire will safely consume the compounds changing the toxins chemically so they no longer hurt the earth. Morrell will return to the cremation site to purify the land.

 

Stiles rides on his mates back. Cora and Petey at his sides to keep him balanced. Morrell and Lydia walk in the middle with Jacobs. Allison thinks Lydia is a bit smitten with the man, so much like her in mind and ambition. If nothing, they will share a friendship, but Allison suspects it may turn into something more given the ions she smells on her friend. Perhaps when these hard days are behind them and the sting of Aiden’s death has numbed Lydia will see their short fling as the crutch it was.

 

Allison doesn’t know what’s ahead, the gate of Paradise, Stiles and Derek lead them to but she wishes Isaac was here.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Lydia shakes the ice and snow from her boots before it has chance to melt into her already wet boots.

 

“Really Lydia,” Chris Argent looks down to her designer boots that are absolutely worthless off the sidewalks of LA in the winter. Had he realized this was how poorly she outfitted herself for the adventure he would have made her stay home or wait in the car.

 

The redhead just glares at the wolf, if her feet were not near frozen and might shatter the moment they made contact with the wolf’s head, she would kick him. “And I was supposed to know we would be walking all day through this winter wonderland? I thought we were going to follow the trail to Stiles, rescue rainbow boy, and get back in the car. How did I get dragged into walking for miles so Derek can find the perfect tree to pee on?”

 

“That was kind of funny.” Stiles mumbles from Derek’s back. Derek had just wanted some privacy to lift his leg, but Scott had insisted they stick together. The pack never let the chosen out of sight, so Derek had held it as long as he could. When at last he gave up, after losing the argument with Scott and the others to just have a moment, he walked with Stiles on his back over to the nearest tree gave a quick sniff and peed in front of everyone. While that had been shocking, what the grey wolf did next was even more hilarious. Petey came over and marked over Derek’s urine. Derek may have slipped into his wolf mind that another wolf had covered his scent and he peed again. Then he started scratching back with his hind legs tossing snow and dirt all over the gawkers to further heighten the scent and mark the tree as his territory.

 

Stiles almost fell off Derek’s back at the range of furious to shocked expressions adorning the gawkers’ faces. Cora had to hold him up. Her face was fire truck red in embarrassment that she was related to the two. When Derek merely gave a huff and continued walking on the path to Paradise, it took a moment for the rest of the chagrinned pack to follow. Stiles never commented, but by the late return of Chris and Scott and the silence from the two, someone else slipped into wolf nature and stayed to mark over the other males’ scents.

 

“Lydia here,” Jacobs rustles through Argent’s pack; he pulls out the Chris’ boots, which he clearly doesn’t need at the moment. “They are bit big, but they are warm.” Jacobs holds them out for the strawberry blond to use. He holds her steady as she peels off the frozen hide boots and wet socks and changes into Chris’ gear. Jacobs helpfully warns Lydia to mind her hand when handling the boots as Chris keeps a number of hidden weapons on them. Lydia scoffs a little at the ugly and apparently dangerous boots, but once she gets them on her frozen feet, she could care less. They are dry and warm.

 

“Are we ready yet, princess?” Derek growls from ahead.

 

Stiles just smacks his mate on the side of his head for insulting the angel. He pulls on Derek’s soft white ears and calls out, “Onward fair steed.”

 

They move through the white fields of the mountain valley. The sun slowly traveling over head as the day grows old. Chris and Morrell are discussing options for shelter, when they reach the foot of an upward climb over slick rocks. Scott and Allison are exceptionally excited and when Stiles ask why, instead of answering they bound up rock face and disappear from sight. Ecstatic barking and yips come from over the ridge to where the two were last scene.

 

Chris helps find a steady path for the humans to climb, while Lydia just gives up on her pride and rides the wolf’s back. Cora has no trouble and flies up the rocky face.

 

The ridge tapers off and the vista reveals the reason for the wolves’ joy. Derek and Stiles jump up the ravine last. As the pair lands next to the rest of the shocked crew, Lydia throws herself off the Argent’s back and rounds on the two shocked mates. She grabs the injured flower maiden by his skin suit and shakes him in rage.

 

“You freaking asses. We walked across that freaking mountain valley all day and the fucking road leads right here. This is your freaking Paradise. I am going to skin Derek and turn you into potpourri!” She screams so loud, she triggers an avalanche right where they had been climbing the ridge.

 

They rush to look as the broken cornice slips, triggering the explosive action of the snow barreling down the chute taking out the very tree the male wolves had marked.

 

“Ye plonker,” Stiles does a bad Irish accent to make fun of the loud banshee. Her scowl shuts him up. His angel can turn into a demon real fast. She turns in a huff and marches to the road to the parking lot to meet up with the others celebrating the reunion with the rest of the pack.

 

Isaac is jumping and wiggling all over Allison and Scott, all wolf kisses and squirming mass of brown, reds, and blonds. The Sheriff is waving furiously at his son to come over. His captor/ nurse has relegated him to stay in the car. Ethan and Melissa are trying to keep the three kids corralled from running off into the forest after the long drive and Danny hugs Lydia.

 

“What’s going on?” Stiles does not get this scene. Derek looks even more lost, his past life’s memories are no help here. It never happened like this.

 

“Well I guess we go to Paradise?” Jacobs doesn’t sound convinced as he looks at the old motel and hot spring resort that they have stumbled across.

 

Morrell is busily flipping through the small leather book that got them into this mess, looking for a clue to figure out this much unexpected sight. This place doesn’t even call to a wolf’s nature, the schlock and glam of the business far from its prime, shouldn’t call to anyone in the twenty first century. The rundown hovel of a motel and parking lot make them squirm at the thought of dusty rooms and bed bugs.

 

The high frequency buzz of an old neon sign reads ‘Paradise Hot Springs and Motel’.

 

 

 

“Stiles, what is going on?” Derek is still shaken and frightened by the sight of a decrepit business in the middle of nowhere. “I’m having a hallucination. This is snow blindness right, the gate to paradise is not offering HDTV and free hot breakfast. Right?” Derek finishes his denial with full whine.

 

“Wow, I guess all my teenage fantasies are true that I would lose my virginity in a cheap motel and guess the shape of ceiling stains in the afterglow.” Stiles tilts his head at the faded rainbow colored sign.

 

“Don’t let your father hear that his barely legal son, I mean flower, is about to be deflowered.” Chris Argent grumbles low to his side.

 

“Oh I won’t, just like Allison would never tell you she is about to enjoy a wolf sandwich.” Stiles snarks and Chris trots away to break up the wiggling threesome. Stiles actually cringes, when the brown and silver wolf starts snapping at the puppy and alpha to get off his daughter.

 

Meredith actually starts screaming at the wolf not to bite her puppy. Then all the kids start crying at the mean wolf. Chris Argent slinks away with his tail between his legs when Allison pulls alpha female on him and growls at her own father for picking on her mates.

 

Petey sits content watching the wolf get taken down a peg. The newest wolf’s position in the pack is confussing to the wolf. The time Peter tried to settle the order their fight was broken up by Cora telling him to save it.

 

When Derek catches up with the group, Stiles still resting on his back, he seems more resigned with the way things are going. Both he and Stiles know this is the place, so they might as well get used to it.

 

“Wow Mother Nuthead really is nuts. Thank goddess; I’ll finally get to take this travesty of costume design off, my nuts feel like they’re about to fall off.” Stiles mumbles, he is so tired and weak his arms and face are covered with green lines signifying his life as a lunar flower is short. The sunlight and water no longer have the same affect of reviving him. Derek hurries him on toward his crying father.

 

“Oh my god Stiles, I thought I would never see you again. When they told me you were taken I almost ripped the IV out and took out half the hospital wards staff trying to leave. Believe me they are prepared for the Stilinski feint this time.”

 

“Yeah we have those drills monthly, between you two men, we have to keep our newest trainees up to date.” Melissa maliciously laughs at the memory of the Sheriff being corralled like a bull and matador. All it took was one greasy hamburger bag from the diner Stiles banned to get the man distracted enough to sedate him. Of course he would never get the burger, he is a heart patient, and instead got spinach.

 

 “Alright, alright let’s move things along. That one is not looking so good.” Jacobs points at the flower maiden. “In fact you guys,” He points to all the wolves, “better figure out what Derek does to make himself look human, or you aren’t going in.” He punctuates this point by motioning to the no pets sign under the free breakfast sign.

 

“Well?” Isaac asks looking at Derek.

 

“Fine, I’ll explain and help for a minute, but time is ticking. Get it or don’t, I’m not sticking around for you idiots.” Derek goes on to explain the principle and process of wolf magic. He gathers to wolves around the thick curtain of trees to protect their transformation from any traffic, which is unlikely because there are no other cars in the parking lot or on the road.

 

Of course the Argents master the technique perfectly, Scott can only manage a bathing suit, but it works, being that they are entering the hot springs. Isaac has a lot of trouble getting his old teenage body from his wolf pup mind. Derek leaves him to his frustration with Allison and Scott coaching him. Derek collects Stiles from the car where he waited with the Sheriff and rushes into the office to get to Paradise.

 

“Welcome to Paradise,” drawls a board gravelly voice of a smoker, who doesn’t even look away from the television to greet them.

 

Stiles yelps when he sees the small woman behind the counter. “Nuthead!” He screams and jumps behind Derek in fear. The gleam of the television reflecting in her small beady eyes makes it look like her eyes grow green, Stiles starts shivering at the woman that looks like anthropomorphized version of a flying squirrel.

 

The small woman just turns when she hears the scream arches her eyes and takes in the kid that looks like he’s been mixing too many drugs and his boyfriend beats on him. The twink is a mess. His eyes are red like he’s been smoking weed and his hair is dyed violet. She’s seen worse folks walk in looking for a room and soak. “You with the Martin party. The redhead,” she pauses as the twink interrupts her to correct her that his friend’s hair is strawberry blonde. His boyfriend just scowls telling the kid to stop talking about the color of the bitch’s hair.

 

She scowls and turns to the handsome older man, “Mr. I do not care what you do on your own turf, but if I hear you smacking around this smartass, I’ll call the Sheriff. You’re in room ten, the bridal sweet. Congratulations.” Her gravelly voice makes little it hard to tell if she is sincere in her wishes. “Read the rules for the springs, breakfast starts at six-thirty in the morning and enjoy your fucking time at Paradise Hot Springs.” She rambles out the last part like she’s said the same spiel for decades.

 

“Oh we will,” Stiles says enthusiastically, “the fucking part.” Derek sighs and lifts his mate to exit the small stuffy office and enter the hot spring part. He and Stiles are naturally drawn to follow the nature walk path away from the enticing pools. They almost make it away from the resort, when they hear the call to wait up. Stiles is really beginning to worry that his first time may be a repeat of the pee incident earlier. He really doesn’t want the mortification of his father watching his barely legal son get it on with a man six years his senior.

 

“Shit, run Derek!” They take off at a sprint to the other’s calls wanting to go to Paradise too. The sulfurous smell from the pools gradually fades behind the escaping couple. When they burst out of the woods they reach the shore of a beautiful lake. Derek pauses to catch his breath. Even with the close proximity of his mate, he still has a lot of healing to do. He scans the horizon and spots an obelisk in the distance.

 

“Look over there,” Derek says to his mate.

 

Stiles lifts his head from where he tucked it to Derek’s chest. “Paradise,” Stiles begins to wheep. He feels his finger getting stiff and strange feeling and looks down to a horrible sight. Stiles is growing bark. He is turning into the lunar flower tree. He is going to turn into a creepy willow tree if they don’t hurry.

 

“That would be it then,” Morrell is checking the illustration in the Book of Moon to the obelisk in the distance. “Well done boys.”

Scott Allison and Isaac all run up after the druid. Chris appears behind them with Cora. Petey comes bounding out of a different path.

 

“Shit, I thought he got locked in the car.” Scott says, Petey can’t assume a human form, as he is just a wolf, so they had locked him in Melissa’s car.

 

“He must have broken out; Ms. McCall is going to be pissed when she sees her window.” Isaac says. The teenager is looking a little young maybe sixteen, but nowhere near the nine year old looking Isaac he first changed into.

 

“And don’t forget about the damages you owe me Hale,” Chris grumbles. Derek just looks over the lake wondering about the fastest way to get there. This seems to be the extent of the adventurous group, everyone else must have stayed to enjoy the hot springs and hotel. The Sheriff would probably want to be there, but his jailer must have made him rest.

 

“How are we going to get across the lake to the island or is it a peninsula, I can’t tell it’s too far.” Scott mumbles. The sun is going down, the wind is cold, and the water is probably freezing.

 

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to be a willow!” Stiles is crying into Derek’s chest. Derek just does what he always does and attack things head first. He steps into the lake. The frigid water zaps at his heat, numbing his foot in a second. He gasps like he was burned as his nerves send a very demanding command to lift his foot out. His teeth are chattering, but he moves to put the second foot in the water. He will die for his mate. They will get to Paradise and fix this mess their lives have become.

 

Just as he is about to wade further into the dark waters, the land shifts rocking as the lake bed rises to form a natural bridge across the waters’ surface for the pair to cross. Derek begins to run down the rock path, but it begins to sink. He looks around frantically, the water grows higher on Derek’s legs. Stiles gives a gasp as the cold nips at his butt, he tries to climb Derek’s frame higher to escape the cold. Derek tips dangerously as he is unbalanced by the shift of Stiles’ weight. “Easy!” Stiles stops and endures the cold. Derek turns back to the shore. Scott looks wide eye at the disappearing bridge and sinking couple. He gasps out, “Get off the bridge!”

 

Scott jumps to remove his foot and the natural rocks return to the surface. The rest can’t touch the bridge; they are not the chosen. This understanding crosses the joyful group’s faces. They can’t open Paradise with Derek and Stiles, wolves or not. They’re pack, friends, and family and yet they cannot share this divine glory. A part of Stiles heart tares in the thought of leaving them behind. Derek watches Cora.

 

Cora gathers herself and believes in Derek and Stiles. “Go!” She screams above the cold wind, “save this world and each other! Live well wherever it takes you.”

 

Everyone nods and lifts their heads with honor and encouragement for the two, no matter that this may be the very last time they see each other. Stiles gulps a strangled goodbye and Derek turns to run the long stretch of land to the far side of the lake praying that whatever awaits he will see his pack again.

\------------------------------------

 

Lydia looks up from the small pool. The water feels divine in the cold night air. The rustling of pine needles and footsteps has the little werewolves on guard. Melissa looks over to Ethan and Danny, who share a private spring a little ways away. Ethan calls out to them that it’s safe, it’s the pack. Jacobs casually slips the gun under his towel on the side of the pool. The Sheriff, who is not allowed to enter the hot water because of his recent heart trouble nods at the agent from the chair he reads in, thankful to have backup should they be attacked.

 

Whatever the Sheriff expected from the group, it was not the frowning faces he sees. “What happened? Where is my boy? And Derek?”

 

“Nothing bad happened for once. We just were unable to follow them any farther. The gods prevent all, save the key and the chosen, through the gates of Paradise.” Morrell explains for the somber group.

 

The pack disrobes and enters the hot water of the large family pool. Immediately the smell of wet dog puts the swimmers off. Luckily there are no other guests or things would get difficult. They all sigh as the warmth melts away the cold. The natural minerals soothe their injuries without the flower maiden and the moonlight, it will have to do.

 

Petey’s whine comes from the very edge of the nature path, the farthest he can stretch the alphas will back towards his pack mates. He mopes about the separation of his pack. The grey wolf wants the sweet-smelling-plant-not-meat back. He made beautiful sounds in his songs and he made the wolf happy like the moon does.

 

Until Stiles and Derek return or the end of the world comes they intend on enjoying this little bit of paradise.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This the end!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for chapter: SEX!!! Explicit illustration (Kind of, there is nudity and a peak of naughty bits), Derek top, stiles top, riming, anal, oh yeah... MPREG, fluff 
> 
> Welcome to Paradise.

 

 

Derek crosses the irongate marking the entrance of paradise. The glowing seal of the goddess breaks as the chosen cross into paradise. The small island oasis twists and turns in mist forming and dissolving to Derek’s wishes. The wolf focuses on his saving his mates life. He must prevent the wilting hanabito from dying.

 

He pictures in his mind his paradise, his mate, as healthy strong human spark just as he was before. He thinks of his own Hale talents to shift to a full wolf, but wishes to remain the born werewolf he has always been.

 

His family is lost to the dead and he thinks of Laura happy in her own phase of rebirth. Going against death, would greatly unbalance the world and only bring more suffering, so Derek forgets the victims of the sacrifice. He thinks of his pack. He thinks of his pack and friends, how as much as they enjoy being wolves, they would rather be human. He thinks of them with their new wolf mate bonds and grants them their wish to have a part of the humanity like before he ever heard of the Book of Moon. He thinks of all the good he could do with his vision, but knows all the bad that he could also cause, so he just reaches deep in his soul and believes.

 

The clasp of the moon phase necklace snaps from stiles neck. The metal bracelets fall to the ground. Stiles kicks the hated objects far away from them, they clatter off into the mist. The skin suit breaks apart like petals and his mate is left standing naked. Stiles flushes from embarrassment at the sudden disrobe, but sighs as the withering lines of the lunar plant recede. His injuries heal at Derek’s very wish. His mate wills away his own clothes and they stand naked in the mist together peering in wonder at the magic that surrounds them.

 

Derek steps up to the boy and kisses him deeply. Their mate bond rings as they finally can progress to the last part of the mate ritual. “Derek,” Stiles groans. It feels so good to be out of the constricting material, Stiles reaches down to make sure his balls are still attached and not the victims of blue balls or the mutant horror of a hybrid plant-human. They are normal, a bit hot and saggy, but they tighten up to their normal size in the fresh cool air. Derek watches as his mate fondles his nuts, and touches his growing erection; double checking that he does in fact still have human male parts, not both male and female like most flowers. Relieved to find there is no carpel and stamen, just a cock and two balls.

 

Derek laughs into the kiss, “Did I get it right?”

 

“Mmm, maybe you should check?” Stiles pulls Derek’s palm from his healed ribs and drags his hand lower until the older man is cupping him. Derek lightly rolls Stiles balls around, enjoying the smooth skin with light dusting of hair in his hand. He moves his hand through the boy’s soft curls and grips the erect cock. Derek gives a few pumps, until Stiles is pushing into Derek’s hand and the teenager’s precum is already leaking.

 

“I am not gonna last Derek,” Stiles warns. Derek immediately stills holding the base of the teenager’s cock to prevent Stiles ejaculation. Derek needs this to be done right or his chance of Paradise will blow away.

 

A soft mound of grass forms a fine bed as Derek collects his flower maiden. His face falls into a serious look as he realizes the violet hair and pink eyes of his mate remain, guess that means he’ll just have to fuck lunar flower out of his mate’s system before he can return to normal. His lust grows as Stiles pinches his nipple and twists. The other hand reaches down and back like the younger man has fingered himself before. ‘Gods,’ pinches his own dick to stop the rush to come from the thought of his mate experimenting with his asshole.

 

Of course Stiles’ beautiful petal lips, blurt out something ridiculous to ruin Derek’s lusty mood, “It’s pollinating time. Come at me my bumble bee,” Stiles makes a rolling motion with his hips, pushing his ass up at the man by reaching behind his knees and rolling back. His small pink entrance is revealed and Derek can’t look away he feels his erection hardening even against his hold. He jabs at his perineum to keep himself from coming. “This is the entrance to Paradise,” Stiles says and gives his rear a little wiggle.

 

Derek was midway to kneeling on the soft grass, he stops panting and slaps the younger man on his butt and starts laughing. His own crisis solved as the laugh takes some off the edge. “God Stiles! Your mouth, I’ll find away to plug it latter.” Stiles gulps down his salivation at the thought of the man’s promise. He runs his hand over the pink sting on Stiles moon white ass, and then starts rolling the cheeks in deep massage. “Some people would call your seductive words a joke, but you my little mate, are the only flower for bumble-me.” Stiles groans at Derek’s bad pun. “You always make me happy. Never stop, my beautiful flower.” Derek leans in the lick Stiles neck.

 

Stiles neck arches back as Derek resumes his ministrations to his dick. All nervousness about giving his body to this man is gone. He trusts him with all of his being; mind, spirit, and body. He pushes his trust and love over the bond and almost explodes as Derek returns the mental wave of feelings with his own mind message.

 

“Really Stiles,” Derek answers Stiles unasked question. The disbelief and shock in his mate’s face enough for Derek to know Stiles is surprised by Derek’s offer.

 

“Of course, I want this relationship to be about trust, how can I ask for something of you that I myself would never give. I want you Stiles, as my mate, to always know you can have me in body, just as you promise yourself. Take me my flower maiden and Paradise will be entered at my gate.”

 

Stiles wastes no time rolling Derek under him and fumbling a little in his inexperience to give his mate all he desires. His timid touches grow more confident with the instant feedback of his lover’s pleasure, which in turn adds to Stiles own. It also helps that Derek makes the sweetest moans under Stiles when he hits his erogenous zone. Ever the strategist, Stiles files away all his growing techniques for later. Stiles intends to find Derek’s zones that will make the ultimate power play combinations. They will have Stiles coming out on top of Derek every time, literally and figuratively.

 

Stiles may have no hands on experience (on another person), but he has practically burned his eyes out with the free porn on the internet. At least he knows that he needs to prepare Derek and spit really doesn’t cut it in the long run and Stiles is definitely ready for the long run after his forced abstinence the last few days.

 

“Derek magic me some lube. Yeah, and um well a condom?” Derek stills his mate’s hands and kisses him sweetly. Derek meets Stiles rose colored eyes completely dilated in lust. His own ice eyes must be a sea of black given the depth of desire he feels in his mate’s arms.

 

“Stiles, I need to feel all of you in me; lunar flowers cannot live if they don’t pollinate. Relax, as a werewolf I could never contract any diseases and you my little cherry are whole, otherwise the goddess would have tossed you back.”

 

Stiles smacks down on Derek’s ridiculously strong peck muscles for bringing the scary nut stealing goddess into this, but then he stills at the memory of the small little head squeaking something about taking his nuts as complicating things. He gasps as he realizes this entire thing was a set up for sexy times. That freaking body suit was a stretchy chastity device. Seriously if Stiles couldn’t get that chaffing, high riding garment that has to be against the Geneva Convention off when he did he doesn’t think his seed that he needs to fertilize paradise with, would be very potent. His boys were too hot in that constricting thing for little Stiles to keep his seed at the right temperature.

 

Derek simply wills it and the magic of the oasis delivers. The thick white cream melts in the heat of Stiles hand, he sniffs the slick oil, “Coconut oil?”

 

“Natural and smells so good on you. My coconut moon finger snack.” Derek wraps his lips around Stiles lubed finger and sucks. The man releases the digit with a pop, “yummy, now for time for the main course.”

Derek slicks his hand through the cream and carefully scissors himself open for the boy who is chanting calculus to save himself from spilling all over his mate.

 

Derivatives of obscure quadratic shapes cannot save Stiles forever. His mind stops quoting formulas for elliptic paraboloids as his eyes trace the same bulbous shape of Derek’s glans on his penis. “Oh Gods, something else,” Stiles whines out at the torture of his mates foreplay. Surely Derek is drawing this out to kill him. “Sadistic bastard.”

 

“Oh my naïve little mate, this is just the beginning, come on in my impatient flower.” Derek laughs as the younger man no longer moves with the grace of a flower maiden and almost literally falls into him in true Stilinski fashion. He grunts as his mate pushes a little too fast through his yielding channel walls, but in some miracle of this magical oasis, Stiles hits his prostate on the virgin’s inaugural thrust and Derek sings.

 

“That’s good right,” Stiles heavily pants, trying to hold himself still, while Derek tries to pull his eyeballs from the back of his head. His neck and back curved taught as a hunter bow.

 

“Mmm, so good, again!” And Stiles being a genius, even when he is lost in passion, remembers the exact position and angle to send Derek spinning in ecstasy. His strong grip of the larger man’s hips and Derek can barely remember to rock his hips to meet Stiles enthusiastic love. “Harder!”

 

It takes no time for the lovers to reach the threshold of bliss and pain, each trying to hold out for the other, as they rut their bodies into one consciousness of thermal mass. A star in the heavens burns as bright as their love.

 

Stiles lifts his hand to stroke Derek’s sex and before one pull the man is coming all over his stomach and chest clenching unbearably on Stiles cock. Stiles’ lean muscles contract and he dives forward onto his lover in one last knock at Paradise’s gate before he unloads four hundred million seeds deep inside Derek. His tortured nuts releasing a great dam of Paradise into Derek’s ass. Their inferno of heavens diming in their satiation, falling from the sky like a meteor, the world around them flashes white and Stiles blacks out.

 

Paradise has been unleashed.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Meredith gasps in Lydia’s arms as they read a bedtime story, “Look a falling star! Make a wish Lydia!”

 

Lydia turns just in time to catch the space debris igniting from the friction of entering the Earth’s atmosphere as it is pulled fruitlessly from its free weightless existence into the laws of the larger mass. She doesn’t wish on trash.

 

“I wish for Lana and me to be friends forever,” Meredith whispers and watches as the star falls behind the snowcapped mountains where the moon is just barely peaking over the ridge.

 

“Goodnight moon!” Nia wakes from her sister loud whisper and spots the shy almost third quarter moon rising into the starry night. Never has the three year old seen so many twinkling stars. Melissa groans as the toddler wakes more and more in her curiosity to see the night sky. It had been such a struggle to convince the girl to sleep without a tuck in from Ethan or Danny. Dillan is huddled on his own cot under the blanket with a flashlight and some of Scott’s old Justice League comics.

 

Lydia had paid for over half a dozen rooms from the old biddy that runs the motel. One run down bridal sweet for the chosen couple, which remains empty, they have yet to return from the lake; one room for the old lovers, Danny and Ethan; and the other for new/old lovers, Scott, Isaac, and Allison. There is a room for the Sheriff and his jailer, at the moment it’s Mark Jacobs.

 

Lydia almost melted when she learned his real name was a play on his mother’s obsession for the designer Marc Jacobs and a family name from his father’s side. Apparently the fashion conscious woman was way into the grunge scene in the nineties. She met the designer, as a secretary for Perry Ellis fashon house. They were never friends or anything, but the brilliant young designer made an impression.

 

Lydia is falling head-over-Manolo Blahnik for the twenty-one year old agent. He has already accomplished so much in his life. All thoughts of Aiden fly away when she is near the man. Her interest in the man’s brain has grown beyond the fit young man’s brawn. He is no meathead with a soldier’s conditioned brain. She contentedly sighs as the bubbly feeling grows when she thinks of him. The childish voice in her brain makes a small wish on the fallen star that they may become something so far beyond her young idealized notion of love. She wants true love like her favorite movie, but without the wasted years and heartbreak. She wants to grow old and senile with a man like Mark Jacobs. Plus Lydia could get along with a mother-in-law with the sense to fall for the fashion icon.

 

Lydia is staying with Morrell and Cora in another room. The councilor is the best person to talk to Cora as the young woman processes the attempted rape and how to deal with her growing anger at her lack of control in the situation.  Lydia left when Cora felt the need to talk with the therapist alone. She came to help Melissa watch the kids, even though she is exhausted. Dillan, Meredith, and Nia are growing on her and they are starting to warm up to the fiery teenager. After her poor show the other day, she apologized to the kids for taking her anger out on them. She had explained that she had just lost someone she thought was important to her, but she could never approve of what he had tried to do to them. She was so glad that they were safe and will be in the pack. That had pretty much sold the children.

 

Poor Mr. Argent and has to share the last room with the inconsolable Petey. The wolf is sick of being stuck in the smelly confines of the motel rooms, not understanding the comfort the others feel versus the cold woods. He trashed the room in a fit to try and escape. If it weren’t for Cora calming presence, Petey would have long tried running for the missing couple. She just prays Argent can keep the damage to the minimum. Her father will likely notice the seven hotel rooms plus the eventual bill for the destroyed room.

 

She huffs the strand of her hair that falls into her face and restarts the story for the two wide awake girls.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Stiles is passed out above him, he stroke over his mates shoulder blade and lower rubbing sooting circles into his back until his mate wakes.

 

Stiles shivers as Derek’s touch prickles his over stimulated core. Never in his life has he felt so relaxed. His attention disorder keeps his stores of energy flowing and now he feels different. Stiles rolls his weight off his lover gently as he slips his soft cock out of Derek’s channel. White fluid slips out of the puckered hole and smears across Derek’s thighs. Stiles drags his finger through his own spilled come, bringing up to his face, before whipping it on the grass. “I will never look at another coconut the same again.”

 

Derek starts laughing joyfully at his mate’s sudden squeamishness.

 

They fall into quiet rest and sleep until the moon is at its zenith. Derek begins to rock against his lover in need. Stiles wakes to Derek pressing sweet kisses to the back of his neck and soft whispered promises. “I am going to fuck the violet right out of you.”

 

Stiles brain takes a moment to realize what Derek said. “You mean I am not back to my boring brown.” He by no means likes his hair as it is now, but he is a little hurt Derek wouldn’t like the way he is now.

 

“No Stiles, you still contain some traces of the lunar flower. Apparently expelling the seed in the most delicious way cleanses you, so I will make you come all night until your flowery scent is no longer and you are human. Well as much as you ever were, my little Spark.”

 

Derek rocks his hard on into Stiles belly. He turns his mate back to his side. Derek mouths gently on his neck, before pressing his teeth in, not enough to break the skin, but enough that the indent will bruise. “Mate.”

 

Stiles arm reaches back to pull the man’s arm to him and wastes no time sinking his blunt teeth into Derek’s wrist. He bites a little too hard, but Derek growls happily when Stiles returns the gesture. “Mine. My mate.”

 

Derek places wet kisses on every vertebra until he reaches the valley of Stiles two hills. From there it a slobbery mess of tongue and lips teasing every plea and gasp from his younger lover until he can stand it no more. He crawls over his lover to gain access to the front and resumes his attention to Stiles’ neglected cock. Stiles arches into Dereks’ mouth and squirts his second orgasam deep in his mate’s throat. Derek keeps Stiles spent cock in his mouth milking every last drop of the seed until his lover’s panting evens into soft sleepy breaths.

 

Stiles dips down to kiss Derek, sharing in his lovers joy of his own spunk. Derek is pleased Stiles earlier prudish feelings about the sticky fluids and mess of great sex not a turnoff. “I just am not a huge fan of coconut. Sorry.”

 

Derek just kisses him again with the taste of Stiles ejaculate sharing between the heated kiss. Stile stirs cock stirs again under Derek’s hard cock. Derek lines up their hips to rock into to each other. “Stiles,” Derek whines.

 

“Take me, take what you need, I trust you.” With all the permissions out of the way, Derek wastes no time. Stiles is loose from his earlier rim job. He dips his hand in the oil and slathers up a finger. He works it in slowly and Stiles rocks the rest in. “Come on Derek,” Stiles impatient sex riddled voice calls.

 

Derek begins with two, then a tongue is added, then three and again the tongue, until he can stand it no longer and Stiles pleas are answered. He slams his cock into Stiles hole until is balls are flush to Stiles skin.

 

“Mhhh,” Stiles cries as his lust filled brain can no longer form words. It stings and Derek is not gentile, but the stretch is burning from how good he feels and when Derek feels this shift over the mind link he takes Stiles over the edge. Fucking him hard, his balls slap Stiles at every thrust. Stiles squeaks so sweetly, even as Derek’s thrusts become more animalistic. Hard and fast, until they are both spent and collapsed in the soft saturated grass. Lying in the wet pool of sweet and cum doesn’t seem pleasant, so he wills the ground clean. He flips his mate over to his back and licks the young man clean, while his mate sleeps from his multiple orgasms. He gives extra attention to the boy soft cock and balls, every crevasse and every fold until he is satisfied. He gentle licks away his spilled semen from his mate’s entrance. When he finishes he sees that Stile’s hair is no longer violet, save for a couple stands near his temples. Perhaps witnessing the Great Mother has changed part of the boy forever and no amount of fucking will change that. He will enjoy trying though.

 

The stars are dimming in the growing sun. Dawn is here and still the lovers play. An exhausting night of the finest sex Derek has ever known and it is only one night, he has forever with Stiles. Nothing can compare to Stiles Stilinski. Never in any lifetime has he felt as satisfied as when Styles opens his eyes to reveal the honey-amber iris and white sclera. He laughs in joy, his mate is no wilted willow. Derek and Stiles cry and their kiss taste of salt and Derek would have it no other way. For one does not know sweet without knowing the sad. His love is just as much a balance as any laws of nature.

 

Stiles feels his mate floating through the easy thoughts. Here on their oasis they are all that maters. But the day is here and the joy of their Paradise is only just beginning. Stiles trails his hand lower to just above Derek’s sex. “Welcome to Paradise baby.”

 

“Yeah I think we are way past that welcoming party, Stiles.” Derek smiles at his mate, but then realizes his mate is focusing on his belly. He traces the mate bond and feels the light tether of another. He gasps in shock, as he feels Stiles Spark magic gently surrounding the newly developing cord in protective layers; believing in the new life and their future together as a young family. Derek starts to cry in his amazement.

 

He is about to roll his lover over in some celebratory sex, when he hears the splash of water and the mucking sound of something crossing the muddy shores of the high mountain lake. Just as he turns mid kiss with his mate, he spots the filthy sopping wet source. Petey has swum across the lake to their not so pure oasis. A happy yip is all the lovers get before the grey wolf is shaking his heavy wet coat dry all over them.

 

Derek face shifts in anger to reveal Derek’s vision has been granted. He is a werewolf again; a pregnant male werewolf, but such is the magic of the druid’s god and goddess. Derek flings the cold wet mess off his arms and front and turn to see his lovers shock and pissed expression. “Petey!”

 

The wolf just bounds back to them and run merry circles around the couple trampling the goddess gift. A field of soft glowing lunar flowers spread in a blanket over the island. The once pure ethereal glow of the flowers is now a torn mess of mud and trampled flowers. Stiles realizes his gift for communing with plants has not diminished when he hears their crumpled cries. When the joyful wolf begins to tackle his pregnant mate, Stiles snaps. He banishes the wolf from the island with his growing spark powers, before the wolf can make contact with Derek’s flat belly and take another step on the helpless flowers. Petey thankfully lands close enough to the other shore that Cora is able to drag the dazed wolf out of the water.

 

Stiles begins to hum a healing melody and with his spark he believes the impossible. The crumpled flowers realign their bent stems until the goddess’ gift returns whole. From Cora’s vantage the field of glowing flowers must look like snow, not understanding Stiles violence of the poor wolf. “Let’s go live our Paradise Derek.”

 

A piercing call of hawk high above sounds almost like the goddess, but Stiles has no more attention for the magic. He spots the anxious crew that awaits their arrival on the other side of the lake and crosses the rocky bridge with Derek right behind him at every step.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The Sheriff wait patiently for his son to step off the narrow land bridge over the frigid lake, having been warned by Scott that no one could use the bridge, save those two.

 

He draws his son into a warm tight hug, no matter that his son is completely naked and covered in mud and other fluids he doesn’t care to categorize. Under the dirt he still has a couple strands of violet in his hair, but otherwise looks the same as he did before this clusterfuck of _Book of the Moon_ happened. He smiles and kisses his son’s forehead. Stiles is an equal a mess of tears, but won’t let go. Even when someone drapes a coat over his nude form to preserve his modesty, he doesn’t let go of his dad. The grumble of other jealous friends waiting to hug and hold their pack mate finally makes him let go. He greets each of his friends and takes in the changes from yesterday. They are all themselves, as they were before. Scott and Isaac are werewolves. Chris and Allison are some kind of hybrid, given their ancient wolf blood, but they remain human.

 

Isaac leans down to give him a full and happy hug. “Hey flower boy, watch this.” The beta werewolf shifts to a full wolf. He is no longer the puppy size, but much larger. He barks happily licking softly and nuzzling Stiles as he leans over to pet the wolf. Petey takes this moment to try and assert his dominance over the wolf that was once the pack pup. Poor Petey is just not having a good day, as he finds himself the newest omega and flat on his back with Isaac’s teeth around his neck in warning. Petey whines in acceptance and licks quietly at the beta’s mouth rolling to his back when his attention becomes too much for Isaac. Isaac shifts back to his teenage size and pets the wolf gently in affection.

 

Stiles looks at them all so happy and deeply moved by their support. He tugs on Nemy’s cord to let him know he’s alive. He smiles at the gold flashes and dims the light switch. He really doesn’t want to embarrass himself by puking in front of his family. “We did it guys. There is no doom’s day on the horizon, well nothing that we are responsible for anyway. And we made it out stronger than before; new powers and strong allies. Nemy will be a guiding force for us and Scott, Allison and I will be strong guardians in turn. We have a larger pack, new additions to the family.” Stiles laughs as the kids all turn to look at the crazy naked men and hide back behind Melissa and Ethan. Stiles runs his hand over Derek’s belly, but says nothing yet. Not that the gesture goes completely unnoticed, by the hitching breath Morrell takes and his father’s drop of his jaw. “Thank you for being there for us. But I am starving and really dirty, so let’s all go to Paradise.”

 

“Give it a rest, flower boy. I’ve been there and it wasn’t all that great.” Scott grumbles.

 

Both Allison and Isaac growl at their mate and punch him in the arms. “That’s not what you were mewing last night.” Isaac leans into his ear and speaks.

 

“Yeah Alpha McCall, kept saying ‘O’god, this is the best,’ just like Cousin Ethan and Uncle Danny, they were really happy playing in their beddies.” Meredith looks up innocently at all the adults flushed faces.

 

Melissa clears her throat and Ethan grumbles something about werewolf cubs and privacy, and they hustle back to the motel to pack their bags.

 

Scott’s alpha red eyes match his glowing face, “I was talking about the motel accommodations, not our night…” He cuts off when Chris Argent turns his back to rush away from the conversation.

 

“Don’t worry Scott, he is just in denial, he’ll get over our amazing threesomes sometime soon.” Allison laughs when Chris’ growl comes from deep on the forest path.

 

Scott laughs nervously, but the alpha couldn’t be happier; his mentor has given him a great gift, one that he will always cherish; Allison’s life. His mates are whole and happily satiated after their night of passion. Scott’s best friend is safe and Peter Hale is no more. Morrell upon seeing the couple lived and the heavens were not falling upon them pledged her services as Emissary to the McCall pack, which he accepted.

 

They file along, each with a giant grin and a new appreciation for the family they have become. Derek is just getting in line to follow the crowd to the motel, when a hand lands on his shoulder.

He turns to the Sheriff. Derek feels quiet vulnerable, under the Sheriff’s scowl. “Let me get this straight Hale, your idea of this paradise thing, was to make my son a teenaged dad?”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The lunar pages flap quietly in the wind, Morrell stands alone. The last of the crew on the shore line has left to enjoy the pools before they leave at checkout time. The cold wind whips the her hair across her face as she flips the pages without thought, when she hears the whistle of wings return she spots the large hawk. The goddess gives a soft cry and lands upon her kneeling druid’s outstretched hand.

 

“Mother,” Morrell greets the hawk with glowing green eyes.

 

“Child, he misses you as you him, do not worry your return of the lunar tome will not sever all ties to the minor god of time.” The goddess promises.

 

She caresses Deaton’s treasure, thinking softly. ‘His teacher, her own druid, dead at the hands of Gerard, but why did Peter never tell Deaton the crime was not his doing?’

 

“Child, such are ways of balance for every light there is a dark. I simply chose for them. Peter would walk the opposing step to the path Deaton was best fit. Gerard was my tool to keep their magic in balance. The loss of one, who I was very fond was but a drop in the celestial pond. Tell me young druid, you know his reborn self better than I. The boy’s spark is as strong as his magic he once wielded in my name, will he again be mine?

 

“That is a fair question Mother. He is strong willed and does not bow to others. But goddess, you have blessed him and his mate with a great gift, perhaps in time he will accept his role. Just a word of advice if I may?”

 

“Please child,”

 

“Do not appear before him again as a squirrel. He appears to hold a great fear of them.”

 

“Good. This pleases me greatly,”

 

Morrell is a little fearful of the hawk’s malicious eyes, Mother is quite the quite prankster and she would not permanently maim the reborn soul of a friend. Right?

 

The hawk’s answering chuckle may mean difficulties for Stiles in the future.

She takes one last look at the fore-edge of the book. She bends all the pages back so they are fanned, revealing a hidden painting on the lunar flower pages’ edge. A monochromatic gold ink painting of two figures, embracing in rather erotic detail, lay in a field of lunar flowers much like the one Stiles and Derek rested in. Morrell just shakes her head to clear her heated blush and hands the soft leather book to the hawk’s outstretched claw. “Great Mother, please take good care of my brother.”

 

The hawks eyes flash green and the soft voice that is so different than the hawks shrill call speaks, “And you child, look after him.”

 

The great bird takes flight and circles high in the drifts until the hawk tucks into a dive never stops as it disappears into the field of lunar flowers. The glowing soft petals falling to become snow and all traces of flowers disappear from the Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fore-edge book is actually kinda cool, but I have some nerd in me so maybe you wont think it's interesting but you can check out how Morrell found the last hidden secret of the lunar tome at Colossal art blog:  
> http://www.thisiscolossal.com/2013/09/fore-edge-book-paintings/
> 
> Thanks for reading my first story ever. I am really happy to see you guys have enjoyed the story and I want to thank everyone for their comments and support. Just a short epilogue after this chapter. Let me know how you liked it!  
> xoxo -AzulMountain


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little reminder from the parents :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just wasn't sure which version to use, so I posted the second choice of Derek and Stiles' sexy times being interupted. The pictures were done before I wrote the end, so the night sky is wrong in chapter 19. Let me know if you like one over the other and if it's overwhelming I will switch them.
> 
> Look forward to other stories like Ice Fellowship to Romance, Mile High Stiles, and Glass Bottom Boat.

 

This is the second version of Petey swimming after his AWOL flower maiden and Derek


End file.
